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

Chapter 202: War Councils
The grand hall of Arcanum Academy was the sort of place designed to impress, terrify, and confuse all at once. Sunlight streamed through stained glass in patterns so complex they made me suspect our architect had a sideline in cryptography. This morning, though, no one seemed to notice the artistry or even the way the enchanted banners overhead kept glitching between school colors and “Down With Oppression!” probably the result of someone’s midnight prank.

I took my usual seat at the front ostensibly because I was on the student council, more honestly because Velka liked the vantage point for identifying possible assassins, ex-lovers, or both. She sat beside me, legs folded, arms crossed, radiating protective menace with every flick of her eyes. Across the table, Mara busied herself taking notes and pretending not to mouth potential comebacks for whatever drama was about to erupt. Riven, meanwhile, had already eaten half a stack of waffles and was now surreptitiously feeding the rest to an enchanted mouse under the table.

It should have been comforting, this routine except that nothing at Arcanum had been routine for weeks. The aftertaste of revolution clung to everything. I could feel the tension as surely as I felt the too-tight braid in my hair, the too-bright glances from teachers who clearly wished they’d chosen a less exciting career.

I leaned in close to Velka. “How bad is it today, do you think?”

She snorted softly. “If the toast attacks, I’m surrendering.”

“Noted.” I smiled, though my hands were cold. “I don’t like the way people are looking at us.”

Velka’s eyes narrowed, and she gave my shoulder a brief squeeze. “You get used to it.”

I tried to believe her. The whispers in the hall had grown teeth lately. They gnawed at everything my reputation, my friendships, my loyalty to my family. Was I the tyrant-in-training the pamphlets painted me as, or the lost girl in a crown two sizes too large?

The Headmistress swept in, her expression a practiced blend of iron and exasperation. Her hat (part phoenix feather, part disaster) bobbed as she called for silence. The effect was immediate, though not total a susurrus of anticipation still rippled under the surface.

“Welcome, students,” she intoned, “to what I hope will be a constructive community dialogue—”

She never got to finish. A shout too loud, too angry cut her off.

“Why should we listen to you? You’re just another mouthpiece for the crown!”

I recognized the voice: Mira, usually more interested in magical fashion than politics. Now her cheeks were flushed, fists clenched, eyes burning.

The room erupted. Dozens of voices rose, some jeering, some pleading, some just trying to get in on the spectacle. Wards flared briefly as a frustrated prefect tried (and failed) to enforce order. For a heartbeat, I thought I saw Aria in the second row, lips pursed, eyes darting—almost as if she was orchestrating the chaos.

My heart thudded. For one wild second, I wondered what would happen if I stood up and told everyone the truth: that I wasn’t sure of anything, that I was just trying to keep the school from burning down, that I would rather be reading in the library or hiding under the covers.

Instead, Velka nudged me gently. “Now would be a good time for one of your famous speeches.”

I grimaced. “I’m fresh out.”

Mara shoved a piece of parchment at me, filled with hopeful slogans and was that a doodle of a dragon playing chess? I glanced at it, inspiration flickering.

I stood, wishing my knees would stop shaking. “Everyone, please can we have a moment of peace before someone gets hexed? Or before Riven eats the last emergency croissant?”

Riven froze, crumbs on his chin, and the hall tittered. The tension shifted; not gone, but paused.

“Look,” I said, heart pounding, “I know there are things that need to change. I know some of you are angry maybe at me, at the council, at the rules. But we’re not going to solve anything by shouting louder than each other. Or by throwing toast, which I really hope no one is planning.”

A scone levitated threateningly nearby, and Mara made a small, meaningful gesture. The scone dropped.

I pressed on, voice growing steadier. “If you want justice, let’s talk about it. If you want change, let’s plan it. But if all we do is tear each other down, the only thing we’ll win is an award for ‘Most Dramatic School Collapse.’ And trust me, the Celestials already hold that title.”

A laugh rippled through the crowd. The Headmistress’s mouth twitched was that approval? Or relief?

Then Aria stood up, her face a mask of innocence, but I knew her too well. “Easy to say from the high table,” she called, “but what about the real consequences? What about those of us who’ve lost family to royal edicts?”

My breath caught. This was it: the question that would unravel me if I let it.

“I’m not my parents,” I said, quietly but firmly. “But I am their daughter. I want to do better. Help me figure out how.”

The room went still. It wasn’t the sort of answer that earned applause or started revolutions. But for the first time, I saw a few heads nod. Even Mira seemed less ready to riot.

Velka slipped her hand into mine beneath the table. “Not bad,” she whispered. “For a first draft.”

I squeezed back. “I’m learning.”

The Headmistress stepped in, restoring order with a few pointed spells and a threat to assign everyone double essays on ‘Constructive Dissent.’ The meeting limped on, less heated, more focused. I answered questions, dodged a few hexes (mostly friendly), and tried not to crumble.

Afterwards, our little group retreated to the courtyard, shell-shocked but oddly hopeful.

Riven sprawled on the grass, letting the enchanted mouse nibble his sleeve. “I think that went better than expected. No one was set on fire.”

Mara handed out cookies iced with peace signs. “For now. Wait until the next rumor breaks.”

Velka leaned against a tree, expression thoughtful. “You held your own. Even Aria seemed impressed.”

I looked up at the sky, clouds racing toward some unknowable future. “I don’t know if I did enough.”

“You did what mattered,” Velka said quietly. “That’s usually the most anyone can do.”

Mara flopped onto the grass beside Riven, arms outstretched, as if she might soak up confidence through her sleeves. “You know what we need?” she declared. “A proper war council. But with more pastries and less risk of being hexed into amphibians.”

Riven perked up. “I second the motion. And I volunteer to be official taster of the croissants.”

Velka slid down next to me, her knees brushing mine. “If this is war, then at least we’re picking the right allies.” She smiled, though her eyes darted to the edges of the courtyard as if expecting a disgruntled phoenix or a parent in full regalia to appear. “You were brave in there, Zari.”

I winced at the nickname, but couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t feel brave. Mostly, I felt like a particularly flustered chicken.”

“That’s what bravery is,” she replied, voice low. “Doing the hard thing even when your wings are shaking.”

Mara rolled onto her side, propping her chin on her palm. “Do you ever wish we could go back to when our biggest problem was Professor Stonefeather’s surprise quizzes? No drama, no politics just magical algebra and the occasional exploding cauldron?”

Riven let out a theatrical sigh. “Bliss. Except for the part where my eyebrows never recovered.”

I snorted, the image of a twelve-year-old Riven with singed brows momentarily banishing the morning’s weight. “Those days feel a hundred years away. Or like they happened to someone else.”

A breeze whisked through the garden, ruffling our hair, scattering crumbs and whispers alike. For a rare, peaceful moment, it almost felt like safety.

Velka’s hand found mine, deliberate and steady. “We’re different now. Stronger. Messier. But still us.”

I squeezed back, grateful and terrified by how much I needed her steadiness.

A shadow flickered at the edge of the hedge a student, or maybe just nerves. Instinctively, I straightened, every sense alert. Mara noticed too, her hand drifting to her wand with casual precision.

“Still on edge?” she teased, though her eyes scanned the perimeter.

“Always,” I admitted. “You think things will calm down after today?”

“No chance.” Mara grinned. “This is Arcanum. If it’s not revolution, it’s a poltergeist with opinions.”

Riven threw a pebble at her. “You’re not helping.”

I glanced at the academy’s tall windows, some still reflecting the chaos of the morning, others offering only blue sky. “What do we do now?”

Velka’s answer was quick and sure. “We keep going. One day at a time.”

Mara nodded. “And we bake more cookies. Diplomacy is easier when everyone’s sugar-high.”

The laughter that followed was soft but real. And when I caught sight of Aria at the far end of the courtyard, her eyes lingering on our group before she turned away, I felt a pang of regret sharp, then softening into determination. Whatever side she was on now, whatever shadows she’d chosen, she had been my friend. Maybe still was, in some tangled way.

“Let’s promise something,” I said suddenly. “That no matter what happens, we don’t become like them the ones who use fear to get their way.”

Velka pressed her forehead gently to mine, eyes fierce. “Deal.”

Mara and Riven echoed it, hands stacked over ours in a clumsy, secret oath.