Perhaps it was the warm breath brushing her earlobe that caused a slight tickle, making Beacai’s ears quickly flush. The blush on her cheeks deepened even further than before.
Isis, however, seemed oblivious to this. She held Beacai’s hand and then asked, “Tell me what you wish to draw.”
Unconsciously, Beacai bit her lip, deliberating for a long while before she finally stammered, “I want to draw a tree… and then, well, a little girl lying beneath it…”
The hand gripping hers paused momentarily. Isis understood exactly what Beacai wished to depict.
The tree, without a doubt, was Yggdrasil, the World Tree, and the little girl would undoubtedly be Beacai herself.
Having seen through her intentions, Isis did not refuse. Guiding Beacai’s hand, she meticulously applied cream to the cake, little by little, as time quietly slipped away.
It was only when dusk descended that the painting on the cake was finally complete. Beacai, whose face had been flushed earlier, seemed to have adjusted considerably, her cheeks gradually returning to their fair complexion.
Yet, the smile playing on her lips was utterly impossible to conceal.
Only when Isis’s warm palm lifted from the back of her hand did Beacai’s smile recede. A sense of poignant loss spread through her heart, prompting her to repeatedly caress the back of her right hand, cherishing the soft touch Isis had left behind.
After a long moment, she raised her eyes to the cake.
“Mom, you drew it so well.”
The cream on the cake depicted a young girl resting beneath a tree. Both the delicate branches of the leaves and the girl’s figure were exquisitely rendered, utterly unlike a painting made from mere cream.
“You drew this,” Isis said with a smile. “I merely lent a hand.”
Beacai pulled her to sit at the table, then placed the cake directly in front of Isis.
“Mom, this cake is for you.”
“Since you made it yourself, you should keep it to eat.”
“It’s precisely *because* I made it myself that I want you to have it, Mom. In all these past decades, no one has ever made a cake for you, have they?”
Beacai propped her chin with one hand, uttering words that left Isis in a profound silence.
Indeed, in those eighteen years, no one had ever baked a cake for her. She had never truly dwelled on it, for her mission was to nurture Nona, not to live a conventional life.
To ensure Nona thrived, she had sacrificed too much. Residing in Anhel Town for eighteen years, she hadn’t even found a single person she could call a friend.
She had genuinely believed these things didn’t matter to her. Yet, when Beacai voiced this stark truth, a heavy feeling settled in her heart, as if invisible hands were gently squeezing her very core.
“I remember,” Beacai then asked, recalling something else, “no one has ever celebrated your birthday either, have they?”
“I don’t even remember my own birthday anymore, so what does it matter if it’s celebrated or not?” Isis replied. “Besides, so many years have passed, and I’ve long lost any motivation to celebrate it.”
This was the truth. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, could no longer recall the precise day of her own birth. Only vague mentions might exist within ancient texts, passed down through unknown ages.
Celebrating her own birthday held no meaning for her. As a deity, she had always preferred to simply observe other beings celebrating theirs.
Elves, for instance, had their own unique Birth Festivals.
Hearing her words, Beacai produced several candles from somewhere unknown and inserted them into the cake. “Well, if that’s the case,” she said, “there’s no harm in me wishing Mom a happy birthday in advance, is there?”
“…As you wish.”
Beacai’s enthusiasm arrived quite inexplicably. She extinguished the kitchen lights, then lit the candles on the cake, allowing their faint golden glow to illuminate half the room.
Though the surroundings were now dim, Isis felt no fear whatsoever. She gazed at Beacai, an inexplicable sense of anticipation blossoming in her heart.
‘What would she do next?’
‘Would she ask her to make a wish? To blow out the candles? Or something else entirely?’
As these thoughts drifted through her mind, scenes of her celebrating Nona’s birthday flashed before her eyes. A warm sensation gradually filled her heart, softening her gaze towards Beacai considerably.
“This cake will be your birthday cake, Mom,” Beacai said. “It has candles, so you can make a wish, and then blow them out.”
This time, it was Beacai who spoke these words.
Isis did not refuse. She clasped her hands together, closed her eyes before the birthday cake, and silently made a wish in her heart—that Nona would live a life of peace and safety.
Having made her wish, she opened her eyes and blew out the candles.
The kitchen lights flickered back on, and the white smoke from the freshly extinguished candles quickly dissipated. Thoughtfully, Beacai cut a slice of cake and handed it to Isis.
“Quick, try it, Mom.”
In her eyes shone the eager anticipation of a young girl, and her movements were remarkably light. She seemed desperate to hear the answer she craved from Isis’s lips.
After all, she had spent nearly an entire day making this cake.
Isis speared a piece of cake with her fork and took a bite. Before she could even chew, she heard Beacai eagerly ask, “How does it taste?”
Without immediate reply, she swallowed the cake in her mouth, then nodded.
“It’s quite good.”
Given that she herself had personally guided Beacai in making this cake, how could the taste possibly be bad?
Upon receiving this answer, Beacai’s anticipation finally settled, transforming into pure happiness and joy. She propped her face in her hands, watching Isis with a radiant smile, seemingly unwilling to miss a single moment.
This made Isis feel a little awkward. She, too, cut a small piece of cake and offered it to Beacai.
“You should try some too.”
“Oh.”
Beacai picked up her fork, cut a tiny piece, and popped it into her mouth.
“How does it taste?” Isis asked.
After carefully savoring its flavor, she smiled sweetly and declared, “It’s not as delicious as the cake Mom made for me.”
As she spoke, she extended the tip of her tongue to lick the corner of her mouth, cleaning away the lingering cream. Isis lowered her head, her movements slowing slightly.
She found herself unable to discern whether this was merely a vile trick of an evil god, or Beacai’s genuine sincerity. Beacai’s words always struck her heart unexpectedly, making her invariably soften.
She even felt a pang of remorse now, regretting why she had replaced the sugar with salt in the cake she’d given Beacai back then. It had been Beacai’s very first cake.
“Here you go, Mom.”
While Isis hesitated, Beacai produced a box, opening it before her to reveal a string of bracelets nestled inside.
“This is…”
The bracelets were woven from delicate flowers and golden threads, intertwining beautifully to reveal a subtle hint of nobility that made it difficult to look away.
Seeing them, Isis was reminded of Yggdrasil’s own floral crown.
“I made these bracelets myself,” Beacai said, taking them from the box. “Aren’t they pretty?”
Isis looked bewildered. “They are beautiful, yes, but… why are you giving these to me?”
Placing her index finger to her lips, Beacai winked her left eye. Her demeanor became mysteriously alluring, yet it retained a touch of pure innocence.
“Of course you give birthday presents on a birthday! Isn’t that common sense?” Beacai quipped. “However, these bracelets are only half a birthday gift. The other half, I’ll give to you later.”