God of Milfs: The Gods Request Me To Make a Milf Harem

Seraphina's expression softened as she turned to him, her voice steady but heavy with the weight of what she was about to reveal.

"What Lady Vanitas told you is true, Kafka. She abandoned you. She felt relief when she cast you down to the mortal world...I saw it in her eyes, the way she stood there, unburdened, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders."

"Yeah, I got that part already." Kafka let out a bitter chuckle, wiping at his still-damp cheeks. "Why do you have to repeat it? Trying to make me feel even worse than I already do?"

"No, Kafka, it's not like that." Seraphina shook her head, her eyes gentle but firm. "I'm saying it because you need to understand the context, as what she told you is true—but it's not the whole story."

"The most vital part, what happened after she abandoned you, is what she's refusing to share."

Kafka gulped, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Vanitas, who was now staring at the ground, her face pale and her hands trembling.

"After?" He repeated, his voice tinged with curiosity and a flicker of hope. "What happened after? What's she not telling me?"

Seraphina drew in a long, steady breath, her expression sharpening as she turned fully toward Kafka. Her voice, when it came, carried weight, meant to cut through the haze clouding his heart.

"You see, after she dropped you into the mortal realm..." Seraphina began. "...the other gods weren't worried about Lady Vanitas feeling sadness or guilt. No one thought that possible, not with the way she carried herself."

"No...What they were concerned about was her fury, since it was as if the universe had mocked her with your birth, and everyone feared she would retaliate with the humiliation she was dealt.

"And you have to understand, Kafka...she was already the most powerful among us. So, if she had lashed out in anger, she could have caused irreparable damage to the heavens themselves."

Vanitas flinched, her eyes falling to the floor, unwilling to meet either of their gazes.

"That's why they sent me." Seraphina continued, her lips tightening. "I was the closest to her. They told me to check on her state of mind, to see whether she was about to spiral out of control. I just like everyone requested, I went armed even though..."

She gave a wry smile, though there was no amusement in it.

"...the thought of fighting her, especially while she was enraged, was little better than a death sentence. I didn't want to go, but I had no choice."

She paused, her voice lowering.

"But what I found...it wasn't what I expected. Not at all."

Kafka leaned forward slightly, his pulse quickening, eyes fixed on her.

"I thought I'd see her aura flaring, storms of divine light tearing the sky apart, the air thick with rage. I thought I'd find her destroying everything around her in a blind frenzy. But instead..."

Seraphina stopped for a moment, as though even now the memory shook her.

"Instead, I saw her crying."

Kafka's breath caught in his throat, not expecting to hear that his mother was crying when she had just admitted that she felt relief when she abandoned him.

His eyes darted immediately to Vanitas for answers, but she still kept her gaze fixed on the ground, trembling faintly, so he went back to listening to Seraphina.

"Do you understand what that means, Kafka?" Seraphina's tone hardened, almost disbelieving even now. "Lady Vanitas is pride incarnate. Her strength is inseparable from her pride. So, even if she were defeated in battle, even if her body were broken and her life slipping away, she would never cry...Pride would not allow it. "

"To put it simply, crying and Lady Vanitas are things that cannot coexist. And yet...there she was, tears streaming down her face. The sight was so impossible, I thought I was hallucinating."

"I pinched myself, I even drew my own blood with a blade just to test if I was dreaming. But no, it was real...She was crying."

Kafka's hands clenched at his sides. His mind flashed back to what Vanitas had admitted earlier, that she had been crying since the day he was born. The pieces slid together with frightening clarity.

"Then...if she was crying..." His voice was unsteady, tentative. "Does that mean...she was sad? That she regretted abandoning me?"

But to his surprise, Seraphina shook her head slowly.

"No...That's the cruel part, Kafka." Her words fell heavy. "The truth was that she wasn't sad. She wasn't remorseful. When I asked her why she was crying, she told me she didn't know. She said water just started falling from her eyes, without reason. And she insisted she felt nothing, no grief, no regret, no guilt."

Kafka staggered back half a step, the hope draining from his face. "…Nothing?"

"Yes." Seraphina said, her tone sharpening again. "And I knew she wasn't lying. She truly felt nothing. That's why it shocked me more than anything. Because it was the truth, and she herself didn't understand it."

Her eyes narrowed, her voice ringing with clarity.

"But that was when it struck me. The reason she was crying wasn't because she regretted abandoning you. It wasn't because she loved you and couldn't bear it...No, Kafka."

"She was crying because you had awakened something inside her she didn't even know existed. An instinct so ancient, so buried beneath her pride, that even she didn't recognize it."

"...That is, the instinct of a mother."

Kafka's eyes widened, his throat going dry. His gaze shot back to Vanitas, who still stared at the floor, her hands trembling violently at her sides.

"You see..." Seraphina went on firmly, her voice unwavering. "Lady Vanitas. She didn't understand. She told herself she felt nothing, and she clung to that belief...But her body betrayed her. Her tears betrayed her."

"So, even as she cast you away, even as her pride forced her to see you as a mistake, the truth was bleeding out of her in those tears. She cared, Kafka. She cared in a way that terrified her."

"Because for the first time in her existence, her pride was not absolute. And it broke her without her even realizing it."

Kafka's breath caught in his throat, his eyes locked on Seraphina as she stepped closer, her voice carrying the weight of revelation.

"What I'm saying is that..." She said, her tone firm yet solemn. "...even though Lady Vanitas is, without question, a god, the embodiment of pride itself, the moment you were born something inside her shifted."

"A seed was planted. A seed of emotion she didn't even know existed. For eons she had never once felt sadness, regret, or weakness. Her pride would never allow it."

"But the moment you were born...and the moment she abandoned you...that tiny fraction of something new began to bloom. She didn't realize it, but she had started to develop a mortal heart."

"...And not just any mortal heart, the heart of a mother."

Vanitas flinched, looking away, her expression conflicted, caught between shame and a strange, painful nostalgia, while Kafka looked at her, his voice hoarse as asked,

"So...you're saying she regretted it, deep down? But she hadn't realised it?"

"Yes." Seraphina nodded gravely. "Even if she herself didn't understand it. The sadness was there. Growing. Blooming. And I knew then that once it began, it wouldn't stop, it would only grow stronger with time."

She turned sharply to Vanitas, her gaze burning.

"And I held my tongue that day. I didn't tell her what I saw, because I knew she would deny it. She would only dismiss it as weakness and call herself pathetic for even entertaining such feelings."

"But the truth, was clear that day and I knew it would come out sooner or later and all she had to do was wait...wait for her to understand her own feelings of love she had for you, despite what you were which was slowly starting to emerge"

The words struck Kafka like a hammer. His eyes widened, his heart pounding. He took a step closer, his voice trembling.

"T-Then...what happened? If those feelings really bloomed...what did she do after that? How did it change her? What did she feel?"

Seraphina drew in a slow breath, then shook her head.

"I've said enough. The rest isn't mine to tell. What followed after...the changes, the struggles, the truth of what came next...those are hers to share."

She turned her eyes toward Vanitas, her voice cutting but fair.

"Lady Vanitas. This is your last chance. Tell him everything. Stop holding back. He deserves to know the whole truth. Let him be the one to judge, not you."

"...Whether he condemns you or forgives you, that is for him alone to decide."

Vanitas stood frozen, her eyes shimmering faintly as though holding back tears once again. She forced a wry smile, though it trembled at the edges.

"What I say now...it will sound like an excuse. I don't want you to think I'm trying to justify my sins, Kafka. Nothing can erase what I did...Nothing."

She finally met his gaze, her voice low and raw.

"But since you want to know the truth so much, I'll tell you. The truth that...after I abandoned you, the tears wouldn't stop."

"You see, I-I honestly didn't understand why I was crying." She explained like she was thinking of her emotions back then. "One moment I was walking through my temple with my head held high, certain I had rid myself of a mistake...and the next, water was falling from my eyes, unbidden, uncontrollable."

Kafka's breath hitched. He stared at her, caught between disbelief and a painful, desperate hope.

"At first, I ignored it." Vanitas continued, her voice trembling with the memory. "I thought it was an illness. I thought perhaps bearing you had changed my body somehow and I told myself it would pass...But it didn't."

"It happened again and again. While I walked the nether planes. While I ate divine fruit in Veldora's gardens. While I meditated at the Telifa mountains. Even when I stood in the presence of the other gods—suddenly, tears. Flowing without my will. Without my understanding...And it infuriated me."

"It infuriated you?" Kafka blinked, stunned.

"Yes." Vanitas gave a bitter smile. "So much that I thought about gouging my own eyes out. I even asked Seraphina if she could do it for me, because my pride wouldn't allow me to mutilate myself. That was how desperate I was to stop what I thought was an 'illness.'"

Kafka's eyes widened in horror. "You...You're joking, right? You wouldn't actually…"

But Vanitas shook her head slowly. "No. I wasn't joking. I really asked her but of course she denied my request."

Hearing this, Kafka's chest clenched, his heart twisting painfully. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Vanitas let out a weak, bitter chuckle before her eyes suddenly became more hopeful she found the answer to her troubles as she said,

"But then...something else happened. One day, in the midst of my frustration, a thought struck me...Your face. The face you had at birth."

She smiled as she looked at his visage like she could his baby face even though he was grown up now.

"For so long I thought that I had forget about you. I thought I erase you from my thoughts entirely since I thought of you, as something I didn't want to remember...But suddenly, there you were again, haunting me."

"And no matter how hard I tried to push it away, the image of you as an infant kept replaying in my mind. I told myself it was just boredom, or irritation. That I only thought of you to distract myself."

"But deep down...I knew. That seed Seraphina spoke of, it had already sprouted. And in my own twisted way, I...I wanted to see you again."

Kafka stood silent, his body trembling, his emotions a storm.

"So I did. I looked into the mortal realm." Vanitas lowered her head, her voice breaking. "I searched for you from the Heavens. I told myself it was only curiosity, only amusement...but when I found you...when I saw you…"

"Let me guess…." He interrupted with a grin. "You saw me again and realized how unbearably cute I was, right? Fell in love with me on the spot?"

The words were half a jest, half a bitter sting, as if he desperately wanted that to be the truth.

But Vanitas froze, her lips parting yet no sound escaping at first.

A guilty shadow crossed her beautiful face, and for a long moment she could not even look him in the eye. Then, with a small, rueful smile, she shook her head.

"I wish...I wish I could say that was what happened, Kafka." She whispered. "I wish I could tell you that the very first moment I laid eyes on you again, my heart melted and all I felt was love. But that wasn't the truth. The truth was…"

She faltered, her expression tightening with shame before she finally forced the words out.

"The first thought that crossed my mind when I saw you...was what a stupid—what a dumb looking baby you were."