'My mother… Minerva that bitch, she was my…. &@%^ She loved me dearly…. Hate! Hate! &!~%^¥ Love… I love my mother!'
Telmus frowned, disturbed by the demon's words and the inquiry about his lovely mother. It was a precious memory, pure and warm, a defense against the dark.
But the memories of that event came to him in a flood, almost as if it was being pushed into his mind,
"It was my fifth summer. The wood was smooth, worn from my own hands carving it. She had placed it in my hands and said, 'This is not for hurting. This is for protecting.' It was the moment I understood purpose."
'This is wrong, that cruel goddess wanted me to kill!'
Xylos, the Primordial Demon, was silent for a long moment, and the silence was more unnerving than its previous speech. "A beautiful story," it finally said. "Now, shall I tell you what actually happened that day?"
'Ah, so he knows that something is wrong.'
