Chapter 11— My reason

Waking up that morning, I already knew something terrible was bound to happen. I couldn't fathom how I knew it with such absolute certainty, but I felt it—a heavy, suffocating shadow settling deep within my chest from the very first second, refusing to dissipate no matter how hard I tried to brush it aside.

I hadn't awakened as early as usual; by the time I finally opened my eyes, it was already considerably late. It was Talia who told me, a certain cautious hesitation wrapping her voice, that Ren had eaten his breakfast all by himself.

And while that fact in itself shouldn't have troubled me—after all, he was already five years old, and it was hardly a tragedy for him to dine alone just once—a sharp pang of guilt lodged itself right beneath my ribs. I had promised him, just the previous night while looking straight into his eyes, that I would remain by his side the entire day, without exception.

When I finally managed to go out and look for him, I found him standing tall, executing with textbook precision the royal salute we had practiced so many times, directed toward his newly arrived cousins.

That was the exact moment I realized my blunder: I should have warned him sooner, with more care and foresight, that he had family beyond the confines of this mansion, beyond Sebastian, the maids, and myself. I should have told him that Ren's world, starting today, would begin to expand far past the walls that had sheltered him for his entire short life.

Although it seemed not to affect him much at the time—or at least that was what I desperately needed to believe—I later found him sitting alone on the entrance steps, lost in thought. His gaze drifted toward the horizon, awaiting his parents' arrival with an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

Something lurking within his eyes seemed to carry a weight that no five-year-old child should ever have to know.

The premonition that everything would go wrong today remained, crouching in some dark corner of my chest like a predator waiting for the exact moment to strike.

But I couldn't show fear. I couldn't afford to lose my composure, not in front of him, not when he needed me to be strong.

I approached and sat down by his side, letting the quiet wilderness do some of the work before I spoke. I offered him the only piece of advice I could muster at that moment, drawn from the most honest place left inside of me.

I suppose it did him some good to hear it—I watched as something in his tense shoulders relaxed, if only a fraction.

But looking back at it now, with my heart still hammering wildly against my ribs, I realize that what he truly needed, far more than my words, was to see the carriage approaching down the path with his own eyes. He needed the physical, tangible confirmation that his parents, at long last and after so many years, were finally arriving for real.

Everything that followed happened so fast that I can barely arrange the events in my memory; they exist only as fragments of shattered glass that refuse to fit back together.

Seeing him collapsed on the ground, entirely unresponsive, his skin turning deathly pale and his lips parted without emitting a single sound, felt like a living nightmare from which I couldn't wake up—no matter how hard I pinched the inside of my arm, no matter how fervently I prayed in silence to any divinity willing to listen.

The child I had sworn to protect from the exact day he was born, the very same boy who just yesterday wrapped his arms around me begging for one more story, lay right there before me. He was cradled in the arms of his birth mother, completely unconscious, utterly oblivious to the sheer chaos his motionless body had unleashed all around us.

What had happened? Did he do something yesterday that I overlooked, some vital detail I should have noticed? Was it something from this very morning, while I slept far past my hour, that triggered this?

I think, in that fleeting moment, those answers ceased to matter to me entirely. Only one question pressed against my mind, urgent and suffocating me from within with a violence I had never felt before—not even on that fateful night, all those years ago, when I watched Edric fall right before my eyes.

Will you ever wake up again, dear Ren?

The screams of his mother, shattered by sheer panic, and those of his father, who barely managed to keep his voice steady while holding his son, echoed across the entire courtyard, blending into the terrified murmurs of the gathered guests.

Yet I could only stand there staring at him, paralyzed, as though my legs had completely forgotten how to move.

What if he never woke up?

What if he...?

Was he dead?

I felt the air being violently denied to my lungs.

Me... my vow... Had it truly amounted to nothing after all this time? After every single night I spent awake by his bedside, after every tumble I mended, after every word I taught him with such painstaking care?

No. I had to do something. Anything.

I couldn't just stand here, frozen and useless, while his life faded away right in front of me.

I love that boy as if he were my own flesh and blood.

And then, amidst all that roaring chaos, a strange thought—almost cruel in its blunt honesty—forced its way through the panic, splitting open like a crack in the ice beneath my feet.

Come to think of it... do I cherish him because he truly is like a son to me? Or do I only do it because of the promise I made all those years ago, kneeling in the mud while Edric lay dying before me?

Why am I having these thoughts right now, at the worst possible moment? Damn it, Siena. Think. Think clearly.

The answer didn't matter now. Just think. Think of what you can do for him in this exact situation.

I scanned my surroundings frantically, desperate for anything—a familiar face, an idea—until my eyes locked onto a single figure standing amidst the shocked crowd of guests.

Ilyawen. The sovereign of the elven kingdom. The only person present whose magic, according to everything I had ever heard, ventured into territories that even Sebastian wouldn't dare to touch.

I rushed toward her without a second thought, feeling my own tears already beginning to blur my vision.

—My Lady Ilyawen —I gasped, my voice fracturing from the sheer urgency as I offered a hurried bow that undoubtedly shattered all royal protocol—. I know I am nobody to ask this of you. I know I shouldn't even address you in this manner. But I beg of you... could you summon a spirit to discern what is happening to Ren? Please!

She looked at me, caught off guard at first by the raw desperation bleeding through my voice. She cast her gaze down toward the earth, contemplating in silence for a few seconds that felt like absolute eternity—as though she were weighing something far grander than I could ever hope to comprehend.

Finally, she raised her eyes back to me, her expression signaling she had arrived at an answer. Without uttering another word, she grasped my hand with surprising firmness and led me directly to where Edric was holding his son.

—Edric! I have an idea! —she commanded, her voice ringing out with an authority that instantly silenced a good portion of the uproar around us.

She forced me to take Ren into my arms, and feeling his light, fragile weight against my chest nearly broke me completely.

Once I held him, Ilyawen knelt before us. She quickly explained her plan, her voice—despite the gravity of the situation—maintaining a serene calm that only someone with centuries of experience could possibly offer.

—I am going to invoke a high-tier spirit so it may enter and verify the state of his soul —she said, cupping my face in her hands for a brief moment, forcing me to look directly at her—. But for this to work, I need someone who is truly close to him. Superficial affection will not suffice, Siena. The soul possesses a natural defense mechanism, an instinct that repels foreign forces from approaching or causing harm. Only someone whom he recognizes in the deepest depths of his being will be able to cross that barrier without hurting him.

She stared directly into my eyes, her seriousness leaving no room for doubt.

—Are you capable of entering that place and bringing him back?

Without pausing to think, without allowing myself even a single heartbeat of hesitation, I gave my answer.

—I am. Whatever it takes.

Upon receiving my confirmation, massive magic circles erupted from Ilyawen's hands, beginning to spin in an almost hypnotic pattern, etching ancient symbols into the air that glowed with a soft, verdant light.

—Blessed Earth, mother of every living soul —she chanted, her voice seeming to multiply, resonating from all directions—, grant your servant protection, and guide her toward your light. Manifest before us, Melora, guardian of the cycle of life.

Everyone present recoiled upon hearing that name, a collective murmur of awe and reverent terror rippling through the entire crowd. And it wasn't out of mere courtesy for the assembled royalty.

Above me, enormous hands materialized, folded over an invisible chest. Gradually, above them, a face began to take shape, framed by beautiful, deep green hair. Her eyes seemed to encompass the entire cycle of life and death, spring and winter, all at once.

Without Ilyawen offering any further instructions, I watched as that towering presence glided directly toward me, her movement so graceful she didn't even seem to disturb the air around her.

The moment she touched my forehead with an ethereal finger, an immense warmth surged through my entire body, and I lost consciousness instantly, unable—and unwilling—to offer any resistance.

I awoke—if one could even call it that—within a landscape of absolute white. Silent, infinite, and vacant.

I tried to discern something in the distance that might indicate my whereabouts, some sort of landmark, but I found no answers within that void stretching out in every direction.

Where am I? I wondered. Looking down at my own hands, I noticed they radiated an almost blinding, warm light, as if I were composed of something far purer than mere flesh and bone.

Could this be my soul, stripped of everything else?

It was then that I caught the sound of a voice—barely a distant murmur at first. It seemed to be engaged in a conversation with someone else.

I followed the sound, running without even feeling the weight of my own legs, until I finally saw him: a young man clad in worn-out attire, speaking to another white-haired figure who stood before him with a presence that made the very air vibrate.

Could it be him? Ren?

I wanted to rush toward him instantly, every fiber of my being screaming at me to reach him, but something held me back. It felt as though an invisible force were pulling me in the opposite direction, dragging me away from the scene, denying me the right to interrupt whatever was transpiring there.

Powerless to do anything but watch, my heart tearing a little more with each passing second, I witnessed the white-haired man vanish before the youth, dissolving like smoke carried away by the wind.

Though, for a fleeting instant right before he vanished completely, I could swear—and to this day, I still don't know if it was real or a product of my own desperation—that he winked at me. It was as if he knew exactly who I was, and precisely why I had come.

The moment he disappeared, control over my body snapped back, as if that invisible force had finally decided to release its grip on me.

I bolted toward him with everything I had left, desperate to confirm if my suspicions were true, if it really was him. I saw him bring something small to his mouth—a gesture laden with resignation—and unable to contain myself, I screamed his name with the entirety of my voice, carrying five years of accumulated love.

—Ren! It's you!

Hearing my voice, the youth turned his face, and I could finally see him clearly. It was Ren's face, without a shadow of a doubt. He looked far more mature than I had ever seen him, yet it was undeniably his, even with a solitary tear tracing a path down his cheek, glittering like a fallen star.

I reached my hand out toward him, desperate to grasp his, feeling that if I could just manage to touch him, everything would be resolved, and everything would be right again.

But once more, something began to pull me away, like an invisible current stubbornly resisting our reunion.

—Ren! Take my hand, please!

He merely observed me for a moment that felt entirely eternal. And though for a second I thought I was losing my mind, gripped by panic and despair, I watched as a massive aura began to emanate from his body, enveloping him completely in a warm, almost golden light.

Without saying a word—without needing to say anything—he walked slowly toward me, each step appearing to cost him an immense, exhausting effort. Within his gaze, I could feel a genuine, profound sense of relief, as if my mere presence there meant more than any words could ever hope to express.

Finally, answering my desperate plea, he extended his hand and took mine between his fingers.

An intense brilliance wrapped around us completely, blinding us both, as warm as the midday spring sun.

And then, in that suspended instant outside of time, I witnessed a memory shared between the two of us, projected into the very air that surrounded us: the exact moment I held him in my arms for the very first time, a baby so small I had feared breaking him if I tightened my grip even a fraction.

The first time he opened his eyes and looked up at me, as if he already knew, by some impossible means, exactly who I would come to be for him.

The very first smile we exchanged that day, when he, barely an infant, returned the gesture without understanding why, and I felt that the entire world, for the first time since the slaughter of my village, finally made sense again.

Now I know, I thought, feeling the tears streaming freely down my face, mingling with the light that bound us together.

Even if I am not your birth mother, even if the blood coursing through your veins is not my own... I believe that, in some way, you are my son.

You have been since the very first day. You will be forever.

I snapped awake with a gasp, screaming, drenched in a cold sweat upon the cold ground of the garden. My heart was hammering so violently against my chest that I feared it might burst right out.

Instinctively, before I could even fully orient myself, I whipped my head around to search for Ren's body, terror still gripping my throat.

His eyes were beginning to flutter open slowly, blinking against the fading light of the setting sun.

I felt the air finally rush back into my lungs, filling them completely.

But there was something different about him—something that hadn't been there before the ritual. A single lock of his hair, right at the very front, had turned completely stark white, contrasting sharply against the rest of his dark locks.

Was it just like the hair of that man I saw beside him, in that impossible void?

I didn't have the time to ponder it further. Everyone around us erupted into pure joy upon seeing him awaken fully, a clamor of profound relief sweeping like a tidal wave across the entire garden.

His mother and father enveloped him in a fierce embrace the moment his eyes opened completely, their fractured voices repeating his name over and over, as if they needed to confirm with every syllable that this reality was genuine.

And though I couldn't be the first to hold him this time—a privilege that rightfully belonged to those who had given him life—I remained there, kneeling upon the cold earth. I watched the scene with my chest still heaving, feeling that today, at long last, I would not push aside the question I had asked myself this morning in the midst of the absolute worst panic I had known since that night of fire and blood.

Now I know, with a certainty that no future doubt will ever manage to shatter.

Now I understand, with absolute clarity, what it is that I am truly protecting. What it is that I truly care for, far beyond any vow, far beyond any sworn duty.

It is my family. It is him. It has always been him.