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

The next morning broke colder than expected.

Despite the golden sun rising over Arcanum's twisting towers, the air seemed to cling to my skin with a damp, unsettling chill, like the world itself knew something ugly was about to unfold.

I stood before the mirror in my private dorm room, buttoning the high-collared black jacket of my school uniform with steady, mechanical fingers. The faint tap-tap of Smaug's claws against the floor broke the silence; he paced behind me, tail swishing anxiously like a restless cat despite his dragon-sized body.

[You're unusually quiet,] the system said, its voice threading gently into my mind.

"I'm thinking," I replied mentally, tightening the last button and adjusting the silver pin of my family crest over my heart. "About today."

[Good. Because you're going to need your wits intact, darling.]

I turned from the mirror, smoothing down my sleeves. Smaug sat near the door, staring at me with wide, molten-gold eyes, radiating the kind of silent loyalty that made my chest ache. Part of me wanted to leave him behind today. Part of me knew I would feel safer with him close.

"Stay hidden," I told him quietly. "If anything goes wrong, I want you ready."

He huffed a cloud of harmless smoke, his version of a solemn vow.

I grabbed my satchel, checked the concealed dagger tucked in my boot just in case and opened the door.

Outside, the stone hallways of the Arcanum bustled faintly with weekend activity: students running late for weekend seminars, the faint clatter of kitchen staff prepping meals, the occasional stern bark of a patrol instructor shouting drills in the main yard.

Everything felt too normal.

And that, more than anything, made my skin crawl.

I met Riven, Aria, Mara, and Elira near the east gate where teleportation sigils flickered faintly against the marble floor. Today was supposed to be 'school free'—no lectures, no mandatory lessons—but one look at our little group and anyone could tell this wasn't a casual outing.

Riven was fidgeting with the strap of his cloak, while Aria looked almost grim for once, her usual bubbly energy muted. Mara and Elira, clad in their full formal guard uniforms, flanked me like silent shadows, alert and unreadable.

"You ready?" Mara asked, her voice low enough that only we could hear.

"As I'll ever be," I said, forcing a smile.

"Still not too late to call in a volcanic eruption and pretend it's a weather incident," Aria offered brightly, though her attempt at humor wobbled at the edges.

"I think starting a volcanic eruption would cause more paperwork than a political execution," Riven muttered, adjusting his belt again for the hundredth time.

[If it helps, you're about to witness history,] the system chimed in. [Terrible, bloody, but history nonetheless.]

"Comforting," I muttered under my breath.

Mara activated the teleportation circle with a flash of her magic. The runes flared bright blue, swirling around our feet, and a moment later, the world tilted and snapped sharply back into place.

We appeared just outside the Royal Capital's central square.

Already, a crowd had gathered: nobles in extravagant clothing clustered near the front, whispering urgently behind jewel-studded fans; merchants and commoners standing stiffly farther back, kept at bay by ranks of stone-faced palace guards.

The execution stage loomed at the center an imposing structure draped in dark crimson banners. The stark wooden platform gleamed as if it had been freshly polished for the occasion, and two gleaming swords rested upon velvet cushions at either side.

The condemned nobles were not yet visible, but their fate hung heavy in the air, thick and suffocating.

I spotted my parents easily: Verania and Sylvithra stood atop the platform, dressed in ceremonial armor dark as midnight, silver embroidery catching the morning light like threads of steel. Beside them, the four High Judges of the Court waited solemnly.

"Looks like they're taking no chances," Mara murmured, scanning the surrounding rooftops.

"Can't blame them," Elira added, eyes narrowing. "If the rebels wanted to make a move, today would be perfect."

"And we're right in the middle of it," Riven muttered, sounding deeply unimpressed.

I stood very still, breathing slowly through my nose, heart pounding an uncomfortable rhythm against my ribs. This wasn't just politics. This wasn't just justice.

This was a warning.

A statement.

Betray the crown... and this is your reward.

Suddenly, movement at the edge of the square caught my attention.

A procession of prisoners emerged, shackled and led by heavy chains glowing faintly with containment runes. They looked disheveled, some defiant, others hollow-eyed with terror. I recognized a few faces from noble houses that had once been powerful allies of my family houses that had stood smiling at court functions, offering gifts and sycophantic praise.

Now they would die, their legacies wiped away by a single morning's ceremony.

Velka appeared beside me out of nowhere, silent and pale. She wore no expression, but I could feel the tension rolling off her like a second skin.

"They're making it public," she said quietly, her voice low.

"That's the point," I replied, glancing sideways at her. "Fear is a faster teacher than loyalty."

The drums began slow, rhythmic beats that echoed through the square like the heartbeat of some ancient beast. The crowd shifted, growing restless. Some clutched charms of protection; others whispered prayers under their breath.

As the High Judge stepped forward to read the charges aloud, I felt the system nudge me gently inside my mind.

[Pay attention,] it whispered. [Not all traitors are dead yet.]

I scanned the crowd, my gaze lingering on the masked figures lingering near the back alleys, their postures too rigid, too prepared. Cloaks too heavy for the weather. Shadows that didn't quite match the light.

There would be no mercy today.

But there would definitely be trouble.

The drums continued to beat, slow and grim, their sound reverberating through the capital square like the tolling of an ancient bell.

And I realized, standing there between Mara and Velka, that the crowd was not silent in fear the way my parents might have hoped.

Low murmurs buzzed through the assembly, a restless, gathering discontent that made the air feel thicker, hotter despite the crisp morning. Faces shifted uneasily. Some nobles stiffened in their embroidered finery, but many commoners were frowning openly, their arms crossed, their jaws tight.

"They don't agree with this," Velka said under her breath beside me, her voice almost lost beneath the drumbeats.

"I know," I murmured, scanning the faces carefully.

No one was throwing anything yet. No one was shouting yet. But the tension was alive, electric, a heartbeat away from something ugly.

Mara shifted slightly closer to me, shielding my right side instinctively. I could feel her muscles tensed, ready for any sudden movement.

And that's when I saw them: my parents.

Standing tall at the center of the execution platform, flanked by the royal guards and the grim-faced High Judges, Verania and Sylvithra looked like forces of nature themselves. Their dark armor gleamed ominously, their capes whipping slightly in the breeze.

But even at a distance, even through the smoke and noise and heavy atmosphere, I could feel the moment Verania's sharp golden gaze locked onto mine.

Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

She was surprised.

Sylvithra noticed a moment later, her lavender gaze narrowing slightly not angry, not furious, just... concerned.

I resisted the childish urge to wince and shrink back under their scrutiny.

Instead, I straightened my back and met their stares squarely, chin lifted, heart hammering against my ribs.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Not officially. No royal decree had summoned me. No guard had been sent for me. I had come of my own volition, following the system's cryptic warning, my instincts, and if I was honest my sheer stubbornness.

Verania's expression didn't shift outwardly, but I saw the subtle flicker of communication pass between her and Sylvithra. A tiny tilt of the head. A tightening of the mouth.

She's here. She's watching.

They knew now. And knowing my parents, they were recalculating their entire strategy on the fly because of it.

I caught a faint, almost imperceptible nod from Verania.

Permission, then. Permission to see.

Permission to learn.

The prisoners were forced to their knees at the center of the stage, heavy iron chains clinking against the polished wood.

The High Judge's voice rang out sharply, cutting through the low murmurs of the crowd:

"By decree of the Crown, under the laws of ancient Velmoria, you stand accused of high treason, conspiracy against the throne, and endangering the stability of the realm."

The accused nobles didn't cry out. They didn't beg. Most stared forward in cold resignation; a few still wore masks of stubborn pride.

But the people the ones in the crowd shifted again, unease twisting their faces.

Whispers grew louder.

Not all of them believed the accusations.

Some wondered aloud if this was justice or simply a purge disguised as law.

I gritted my teeth.

[This isn't good,] the system murmured grimly in my mind. [The atmosphere's ready to snap.]

"I can feel it," I thought back, eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

If someone wanted to spark rebellion, if someone wanted to light the flame that would engulf Velmoria in civil war, this was the moment to do it. A public execution. Dissatisfied citizens. Anger humming beneath the surface like a taut violin string.

A spark could ruin everything.

Velka tensed beside me, her body poised subtly like a coiled spring.

"Get ready," I said under my breath to Mara, Aria, and Riven.

Mara's eyes glinted. "Always."

Riven cracked his knuckles dramatically. "About time something fun happened."

Aria just gave me a thumbs-up, her glittery containment spells already swirling faintly around her fingers.

The executioner stepped forward, a massive figure clad in black robes, his face hidden beneath a silver mask. He lifted one of the ceremonial blades, the sunlight glinting off the sharpened edge.

The prisoners bowed their heads.

The drums stopped.

For a heartbeat, the entire square held its breath.

"WAIT!"

A voice rang out over the square, clear and sharp.

Everyone froze.

Even the breeze seemed to hold still.

My heart seized painfully.

A figure stepped out from the crowd hooded, cloaked, familiar in the worst possible way.

I recognized him instantly: one of the rebel captains from the failed uprising two years ago. His face was thinner now, scarred by battles fought in shadow, but the hatred burning in his eyes was unchanged.

"Is this justice?!" he roared, pulling back his hood, baring his face to the world. "Or is this tyranny?!"

Chaos exploded instantly.

Cries of outrage and panic rippled through the crowd.

Guards surged forward, drawing weapons.

The rebel captain hurled something a black vial toward the stage.

I didn't think.

I moved.

"MOVE!" I screamed at Velka, Mara, Riven, and Aria, shoving them aside as the vial hit the execution platform and shattered.

Thick black smoke erupted in a geyser, engulfing the stage and the prisoners.

And the drums those terrible drums resumed, faster now.

A war beat.