Unseen Blessings

Suddenly, I am wrenched back into my body. The sensation is violent—like being thrown into ice-cold water, my lungs spasming as they drag in sharp, shallow breaths.

My vision wavers, the world around me shifting in and out of focus as if reality itself is slipping through my fingers. Every muscle in my body feels like lead, unmovable, unresponsive.

And yet, amid the haze, I hear them.

Voices—clear as day, yet only in my mind.

“See…” Dark Winter’s voice is smooth, dripping with mockery. “This is why you should’ve just taken her hand when she offered. You really think you can handle her games?”

A presence flickers beside me, and I know without looking—Dark Winter is there. He watches me with sharp, knowing eyes, something between amusement and disdain curling at the edges of his expression.

On the other side, Light Winter materializes, a soft, silvery glow forming his shape. His expression is calmer, but troubled, his brows drawn as he observes me with quiet concern.

I try to move—try to push past the overwhelming exhaustion pressing against me like quicksand—but my limbs refuse to obey.

“Slowly… slowly…” My mother’s voice cuts through the fog, warm and steady, grounding me. Her arms catch me as I struggle, supporting my weight effortlessly. The warmth of her touch seeps into my skin, but I can still feel the faint tremor in her fingers. She’s worried.

Her eyes scan my face, her concern deepening as she studies me. “Are you alright, Ori?” she asks, voice soft yet firm.

I force myself to swallow the tightness in my throat, trying to answer, but before I can, I catch sight of Elara.

She is uncharacteristically quiet, her wide eyes locked onto me, her lips pressed into a thin line. There’s something uncertain in her posture, as if she’s teetering between asking what’s wrong and pretending nothing is.

“Nothing happened… you know how she can be. Just toying with you as always,” Light Winter murmurs, his voice a thread of reassurance in my mind. His gaze is steady, calm, the way it always is—but beneath it, I catch the flicker of something else. Concern. Doubt.

Dark Winter scoffs beside him, his expression twisted in a smirk. “Toying with him? That’s putting it mildly,” he sneers. “You saw her. She was baiting him like a cat with a mouse.”

Their words settle like stones in my chest, but I shove them aside.

“Elara?” My mother shifts her focus, her voice gentle yet searching. “Did you feel like this after…?”

Elara hesitates. Her fingers twitch at her sides before she slowly shakes her head. “No, Mother… I… I felt alright.”

I can feel another gaze on me—Father Eldric. His face remains composed, but I don’t miss the deep furrow in his brow, the way his hands tighten slightly over the crystal orb in his grasp. He’s troubled, I realize. He sees it too.

Still, his voice remains steady as he gestures toward the orb. “Place your hand on it, dear,” he instructs, his tone gentle, though I can sense the unspoken worry beneath it.

The voices in my mind go quiet. Watching. Waiting.

I exhale slowly, steadying myself. My fingers tremble as I reach forward, brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the orb.

As I place my hand on the orb, its surface remains cold and lifeless beneath my touch. No reaction. No flicker of light. Just an empty, unmoving stillness.

The silence in the chamber thickens, pressing in like unseen hands, heavy with anticipation. The candlelit glow flickers along the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that seem to stretch toward me, waiting.

Elara watches with wide, unblinking eyes, barely breathing. Anara shifts beside her, her hands gripping the edges of her robe, her gaze flickering between me and Father Eldric. The concern in her face is unmistakable, but beneath it, I see something else—hesitation. Doubt.

The weight of their attention presses down on me, but my mind is already elsewhere, sinking into a far darker place.

“What will you do now?” Dark Winter’s voice seeps into my thoughts, low and unrelenting.

He stands just beyond my vision, a shadow at my side. “Are you truly going to let her go unpunished? She’s out there, Orion. You know it. You’ve seen what she’s capable of—do you really think it’ll end if you ignore her?”

A chill runs down my spine, but I don’t react. I keep my breathing even, my fingers still against the orb’s glassy surface.

Beside him, Light Winter emerges—calm, composed, but silent. His usual warmth is there, but it's tinged with unease, his gaze shadowed by unspoken thoughts. He doesn’t refute Dark Winter’s words.

Because he knows they hold truth.

Father Eldric’s voice pulls me back, breaking through the thick fog of my thoughts. “Orion,” he says, his tone gentle yet firm, “try to focus your mana. Just a small amount.”

I nod, though the orb remains as cold as before. My reflection stares back at me, distorted across its smooth surface, and for a moment, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.

“You know you can’t do this alone,” Dark Winter continues, his voice growing darker, more insistent.

A flicker of motion at the edge of my vision—his hand extends toward me, wreathed in shadow. “Take my hand, and let’s merge. We have the power if we act together. She won’t expect it, and this time, we’ll end her.”

A shudder crawls up my spine, but I don’t move.

In my periphery, Father Eldric leans in slightly, his brow furrowing as he watches me. Anara’s fingers twist the fabric of her robe, her lips pressed together, her posture stiff. I can feel the way her gaze lingers, the silent question in her eyes.

“Orion, my son, are you all right?” Her voice is quiet, but sharp with concern.

I hesitate.

Dark Winter’s presence pulses beside me, his outstretched hand unmoving, waiting. His voice lowers, cold and edged with frustration.

“Do you realize what’s at stake here?” he hisses.

“She has Yuui—your past—your memories. She’s already entangled in every part of your life, and she’ll soon find a way to come for your future. If you don’t act now, you’re the one signing Yuui’s death sentence. And yours.”

Father Eldric exhales, his voice softer this time. “Place your hand on the orb,” he urges. “Just take your time, Orion.”

The chamber feels smaller, the weight of expectation pressing harder against my chest. The flickering candlelight wavers, making the shadows stretch and contract as if the very room is breathing alongside me.

My fingers curl slightly, gripping the orb tighter. My heart pounds against my ribs, but I keep my gaze steady, unshaken.

“Not yet,” I murmur.

Dark Winter’s outstretched hand fades from my vision.

Father Eldric glances over his shoulder to Anara, his tone lowering into something almost reluctant.

“He has… no blessing,” he says softly, the tension thick in his voice, as if the words themselves are heavy to admit.

Beside him, Anara’s mouth tightens into a firm line. Her eyes search my face, trying to understand something she can’t see or feel. The candlelight flickers against the stone walls, casting shadows across her features, deepening the quiet worry that lingers behind her gaze.

Inside my mind, Dark Winter seethes, his presence curling around my thoughts like a storm on the verge of breaking. His frustration bleeds into his voice, now nothing more than a menacing snarl.

“So you’ll keep refusing me? Is this cowardice, Orion? Are you truly so weak?”

The words slice through me, sharp and precise, but I refuse to let them sink in. I force my shoulders back, my grip on the orb tightening until my knuckles turn white.

My breath is steady, controlled. The weight of his presence tries to drag me down, but I meet it with cold defiance.

“Weak?” My voice cuts through the silence, edged with steel.

“Weak is when I accept you.” My eyes flash as I glare into the empty space where his presence looms. “I’ll do it on my own.”

A low, dark laugh echoes in my head—mocking, amused, yet undeniably fading. Dark Winter’s presence flickers, retreating into the depths of my mind, though I know he isn’t gone. Not yet.

Father Eldric’s hand rests gently on my shoulder, steady and grounding. The warmth of his touch offers quiet reassurance, but I don’t miss the flicker of worry hidden beneath his calm exterior. His fingers tighten slightly before he exhales, then pulls the orb away.

The moment it leaves my hands, the room feels colder. Lighter. Like something oppressive has been lifted, if only slightly.

He guides me toward the worn wooden bench, his movements careful, deliberate. As I sink onto the rough surface, he murmurs an incantation under his breath.

The words are old, laced with warmth and healing magic, and the soft glow that follows spreads through my limbs, easing the exhaustion clinging to my muscles. The remnants of the goddess’s realm still linger within me—an icy aftershock—but the magic dulls the worst of it.

As my mind clears, my vision sharpens.

Elara is beside me, small and quiet, her hand resting gently on my back. She traces slow, comforting circles, her touch feather-light but steady. She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t need to. The worry in her eyes speaks louder than any words. Her usual brightness is dimmed, swallowed by concern, and it makes something inside me tighten.

Anara kneels before me, her expression soft but searching. She studies me carefully, as if trying to read the silence I refuse to break. Then, she places a hand on my shoulder, her grip firm yet reassuring.

“It’s alright, Ori,” she says, her voice low and certain. “Nothing happened. You’re just… not ready yet.”

Her words are meant to be gentle, a soothing reassurance. But they fail to quiet the fury simmering inside me.

Not ready? I want to tell her about the darkness lurking in my mind, about the voice that whispers, the hand that lingers, waiting. But when I meet her gaze, there is only love, only comfort.

So, I swallow back the words.

Anara lifts a hand, cupping my cheek, her fingers warm against my skin. Her expression doesn’t waver, filled with unwavering conviction. “Blessing or not, you’re still my son,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over my cheek the way she used to when I was little. “And nothing will change that. Remember, Ori—you’re always loved.”

A lump rises in my throat, but I push it down.

Behind me, Elara’s fingers tighten slightly against my back, a silent show of support. Even without speaking, she grounds me, anchoring me to the present.

Father Eldric’s gaze softens as he looks down at me. “Even without a blessing, skills can still be earned,” he says, his voice kind but firm.

“Don’t let this discourage you, Orion.” He offers me a slight nod before turning to leave, his robes shifting as he moves toward the door.

Anara hesitates only a moment before calling after him. “Father Eldric! Please, wait.”

She hurries after him, reaching into the worn pouch at her waist. Her fingers brush over the few coins inside, her brows drawing together. There is hesitation in her movements, as if torn between duty and pride.

“I must give something… it’s only right,” she murmurs, her voice laced with quiet insistence.

Father Eldric turns to her, shaking his head gently. His expression is warm, understanding, but resolute. He lifts his hand in a gesture to stop her.

“No, Anara,” he says, his voice unwavering. “Keep it. You and the children need it more than we do.”

Anara’s lips press together, conflict flashing in her gaze. Her fingers tighten around the coins, reluctant.

“But, Father Eldric… I insist,” she whispers, her voice barely above a breath.She looked up, her gaze conflicted between respect and obligation.

“Anara,” Father Eldric interrupts gently, leaning in ever so slightly. His eyes, wise and knowing, hold a quiet certainty that makes my mother hesitate.

“He’s already paid… your family is watched over. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods toward Elara and me, his gaze steady, unreadable. But there’s something deeper beneath his words—something unspoken.

Anara’s face shifts, emotions flickering across it in rapid succession—surprise, a fleeting excitement, and then an ache of sadness that settles like a weight in her eyes.

She turns slightly, glancing back at us, her children, and whatever momentary spark had lifted her expression fades under the heavy lines of worry.

She returns to us slowly, her steps measured, controlled, though I can feel the tension clinging to her like a second skin. When she finally sits beside me, her face softens into something maternal, something warm. She reaches out, her fingers brushing through my hair, her touch both comforting and hesitant.

“Thank you,” she whispers, but her voice carries more than gratitude. It’s layered with something unspoken, something uncertain.

--------------------------------------------------

The ride back to Uncle Darius’s house is long and silent. None of us speak. The quiet isn’t comfortable—it’s thick with thoughts none of us dare say aloud.

The steady clatter of the horse’s hooves against the dirt road becomes a rhythm, a dull background to the storm brewing inside me.

By the time we arrive, the air is cool, the sky a deepening shade of indigo. Anara dismounts first, her movements slow, deliberate. She pulls off her boots at the doorway, releasing a small sigh as she finally breaks the silence.

“We’re home,” she murmurs softly.

But Elara doesn’t wait. She steps forward, placing herself directly in front of us, her small frame rigid with something unspoken. There’s a fire in her gaze, her brows drawn together in a way I rarely see.

Uncle Darius’s voice booms from the next room before we can step inside fully. “Well, well! You’re back! So, what happened?” His footsteps are loud as he strides in, his usual grin stretching across his face. He rubs his hands together in anticipation, his broad shoulders relaxed. “What blessings did you two receive?”

Then, he sees us.

His grin falters, his eyes scanning each of us, his usual warmth dimming as realization sets in. His gaze lingers on Anara, searching, questioning, before flickering to me and Elara. The room seems smaller, the wooden beams above creaking faintly as the silence stretches too long.

Then Elara speaks.

“Mom.” Her voice is steady. Firm. Unusually so. It slices through the air, sharp and commanding, and for a second, I see Uncle Darius stiffen.

I turn to her, startled. She never talks like this.

“Now that we’re home, the rules don’t apply, right?”

Anara blinks, visibly caught off guard. Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. Even I feel the shift in the air—the weight of something inevitable.

Uncle Darius tilts his head slightly, confusion creeping into his expression. “What’s this about, Elara?” His voice is gentler now, more cautious, like he’s stepping onto unstable ground.

But Elara doesn’t acknowledge him. Her gaze stays locked on Anara, unwavering.

“Who is he?” she asks, her voice carrying an edge. “Is he… my father?”

The question lands like a thunderclap.

The air is sucked from the room, leaving behind a silence so thick, so charged, it nearly hums. Anara’s face drains of color.

Her hand twitches, instinctively reaching for the edge of the wooden table as if she needs something to steady herself. Her breath stutters, her chest rising and falling in shallow movements.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

Uncle Darius’s face mirrors her shock. His jaw drops slightly, his usual composure slipping as his eyes dart between Elara and Anara.

His hands, once casually resting on his hips, slowly fall to his sides. He doesn’t speak. He just waits—watching Anara, waiting for her reaction.

“Elara…” Anara’s voice is barely a whisper. There’s something fragile in it, something uncertain. She places a trembling hand on her chest, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her dress as she struggles to find words.

“Why would you ask something like that?”

But Elara isn’t backing down.

Her eyes burn with something fierce, something unshakable. “Because everyone has been hiding things from us, Mom. I deserve to know the truth.”

The words hit like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

The room feels smaller. The walls, lined with old books and relics from travels long past, seem to press inward, trapping us all in this moment. The fire in the hearth crackles, the only sound filling the tense void.

Anara looks lost—her emotions warring behind her eyes. Guilt, sadness, and something deeper, something buried for so long it’s only now clawing to the surface.

Her silence is an answer in itself.