Seven Mothers: All My Seven Mothers Are Beautiful Valkyries?!

I slumped into the chair at the dining table, the hardwood creaking beneath me as I set a thick mythology book down with a thud. The golden lettering on the spine glinted under the kitchen lights. 

'Gods and Their Secrets.'

Leaning on one elbow, I flipped open to a chapter on goddesses, scanning the pages with a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

"The most powerful, huh?" My mother's words echoed in my head. She hadn't said it with arrogance, just as a simple fact. 

But what kind of goddess was she? 

I traced my finger along the list of names and domains: Goddesses of War, Love, Fate...None of them felt right.

"Come on, there's gotta be something." I rubbed my temples, eyes drifting to the coffee cup growing cold beside me. 

I turned another page and then another, finding nothing that fit her image. She's strong and fierce but also nurturing. Her power was immense, but she wielded it with grace, not cruelty. Most of the goddesses described here were too one-dimensional, too neatly packaged. 

None of them encompassed her...Not like I knew much about her anyway.

Valencia...My last name, all of my mothers last name. 

I tapped the table absently. Maybe that was the clue I was missing. But even with that, I hit a dead end. There were no records of goddesses named Valencia, no books that gave information on that name. It felt like trying to solve a riddle with half the words missing.

My gaze fell on another section of the book: 'Valkyries: The Guiders of the Slain.'

I leaned in, interest piqued. Valkyries weren't goddesses themselves, but they were powerful, divine warriors who served higher beings, guiding fallen souls to the afterlife. 

Loyal, fierce, protective...The description painted a picture that was oddly familiar.

Valkyries...The thought settled in my mind like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

My mothers were apparently Valkyries—my true mother's Valkyries...It made sense. They were warriors in their own right, each strong enough to tear down mountains if they wanted. And yet, beneath that ferocity was a duty to protect, to nurture. They weren't just warriors; they were guardians.

"Mighty Valkyries who became caring mothers." I whispered the words to myself. 

What did that make her, then? My true mother, the one they served and loved so fiercely? 

If Valkyries were the fiercest of divine warriors, their mistress had to be something beyond comprehension...Maybe that's why she called herself the most powerful—because she was.

And that power, that legacy, flowed through all of them...Through me.

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. The weight of that realisation pressed against my chest. 

No wonder they were always so protective, so intense. They were born to be guardians, and I was the one thing they chose to guard with all their strength.

"So... I'm basically living with a bunch of overpowered, winged warrior moms." I closed the book with a sigh.

I sat there, still lost in thought, considering whether I should grab another book from my little library. The ideas were swirling, and I was ready to lose myself in another chapter of divine mysteries. But just as I pushed the chair back, I heard soft footsteps approaching.

I turned, and there she was.

My mother entered the kitchen with a grace that seemed almost rehearsed, her eyes catching mine with a mischievous glint. 

She didn't just walk in—No, she circled the dining table slowly, deliberately, like she was gliding on air. Her movements were fluid and calculated, a quiet confidence radiating from every step. It felt as if she were a queen making a point of letting her subject admire her presence.

She wore a grey sweater—one of mine—that draped down to her mid-thighs. The fabric looked incredibly soft, like it would melt under the touch. Though it was long, it fit her snugly, clinging in all the right places. The sweater stretched taut across her curves, the knit material outlining the gentle slope of her waist and the fullness of her hips.

I swallowed hard, stunned into silence. It was just a sweater, just casual wear, yet somehow it seemed so much more. 

The way the neckline dipped just slightly off one shoulder, exposing the smooth curve of her collarbone. The way her hair, still damp from earlier, curled softly around her face and neck, strands sticking to her skin in an effortlessly alluring way. And how the sleeves were too long, covering part of her hands, making her look delicate, almost shy, made it impossible for me to take my eyes off her.

But it wasn't just cute...It was an oddly erotic sight. 

The way the tight knit hugged her figure, hinting at every curve beneath, made my thoughts stray to dangerous places. The hem of the sweater barely skimmed the tops of her thighs, leaving just enough to the imagination. 

I clenched my jaw, trying to shake the thoughts away. But my eyes kept drifting back to her. There was something so disarming about seeing her like this—stripped of her usual intimidating poise, wrapped in something so simple and warm.

My mother then stopped in front of me, a knowing look in her eyes. 

"Aren't you forgetting something, Luca?" Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an expectation there—a cue for me to say what she clearly wanted to hear.

But even though I knew exactly what she wanted to hear, I decided to ask something much more important that was on my mind.

"Uh, Mom...Can you possibly change into something else? Anything but this sweater." I said awkwardly.

Her smile faltered, and she blinked at me, caught off guard. 

"What?" She glanced down at herself, then back up, confusion etched on her face. "Why? Is there something wrong with this dress?"

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. 

"No, there's nothing wrong with the dress itself. The problem is…" I took a breath, looking directly at her. "...The problem is the person wearing the dress."

"Excuse me?" She raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over her chest. "What exactly do you mean by that, young man?"

"Well, out of all the clothes I brought, you somehow managed to pick the most expensive one, Mom." I explained, gesturing at the sweater. "That sweater's made from a special type of wool from a rare breed of sheep. It cost me a lot to get my hands on it." My lips twitched into a half-smile. "So, I'd really prefer it if you wore something cheap...Something I wouldn't mind getting stretched out, unlike this fancy sweater I rarely wear myself."

Her face scrunched in dismay, and she let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

"Luca, seriously?" She looked up, shaking her head. "How on earth did you manage to pick up so many women in the past when you can't even give a proper compliment? Instead of praising me for how I look in this dress, you're worrying about the price of my clothes like a cheap little punk?"

"Priorities." I shrugged with a smile on my face.

"I raised a hopeless case…" She groaned, muttering under her breath.

But before she could continue, I cleared my throat, eyes narrowing slightly as I said, 

"That's not even the only problem, Mom."

"What now?" She frowned. 

I pointed downward, my finger aimed at her long, bare legs. 

"Ahem, excuse me for asking, but are you even wearing anything underneath that?" My voice dropped with suspicion. "Because with how long the sweater is, it seriously looks like you're going commando."

A flush crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. She instinctively tugged the hem of the sweater lower, eyes darting away.