Elian's battle unfolded not in the realm of flesh and blood, but somewhere deeper—within his mind, or perhaps in a spiritual domain—a strange, unreachable place to which his consciousness was dragged each time that owl decided to reveal something. Like the first time, after his reincarnation, when she showed him the Trees of Qliphoth and Sephiroth. Or that night, in a dream, when she unveiled the attack that would come for family .
The truth was, Elian didn't know where that place truly existed. So he had named it the Etherfield—a term born from instinct, almost intuition. A space where time didn't flow as it did in the real world, and where body and spirit dissolved into one.
While he remained trapped within that place, battling his inner trials and speaking for the last time with his father, time continued to flow outside.
In the trench, where he had collapsed, his family and his mentor were doing everything they could to bring him back. They had tried all known methods for waking someone from magical collapse, but nothing worked.
Elise turned to magic.
"Sanare," she murmured, extending a hand over Elian's chest.
A soft, sky-blue light emerged—gentle, almost maternal. The magical aura wrapped his body with the tenderness of a warm breeze crossing a winter field. It was a basic healing spell, but one widely used on battlefields—especially to counter unconsciousness due to exhaustion. Soldiers, mages, and arcane swordsmen often collapsed from fatigue before suffering real wounds, and Sanare was the charm that brought them back.
But it didn't work on Elian.
Neither Sanare Medio nor Sanare Altiora would be appropriate. The first demanded more vitality from the body, and the second... well, Altiora was something close to a miracle—capable of restoring limbs, healing fatal wounds, even regenerating organs. But its cost was immense. Using it on Elian, who existed somewhere between physical and spiritual, would be more dangerous than wise.
Beside Elise, kneeling in the mud, Maria tried to hold herself together. But her calm was only surface-deep. A fragile disguise, built on instinct, just to keep Emanuelle and Anthony from falling apart.
Inside, Maria was shattered.
"How long has he been unconscious, Elise?" she asked, voice trembling, trying to sound strong.
"Ten minutes," Elise replied, with the cold discipline of someone carrying urgency in their bones but unable to show it.
She knew this wasn't a simple faint. But saying so aloud would be devastating. Her real concern, though hidden, wasn't Elian. It was Arthur.
Arthur was still missing.
And though hope remained... the forest's silence, the unanswered calls, the prickling on the back of her neck—all screamed that it was already too late.
Emanuelle, her eyes red from crying, clung tightly to the edge of Maria's dress.
"Is Eli dead, mommy?" she asked in a broken whisper. "And daddy? Where's daddy? I wanna see daddy!"
Maria froze.
She couldn't say a word.
She shut her eyes tightly, holding back tears. Fear, helplessness, horror—they wrapped around her chest like invisible blades. Each heartbeat a blow, every breath an effort. It was too much to look at her daughter without breaking.
Gremory stepped in.
He knelt at the girl's level, and with a voice full of gentleness said,
"No, sweetheart. Your brother's just asleep. He'll wake up soon, and we'll go find your father together, okay?"
Emanuelle nodded slowly, still not understanding.
Maria glanced at Gremory, eyes glistening with gratitude. A silent thank-you. That moment of tenderness had saved something in her. For now.
Meanwhile, Anthony couldn't sit still any longer.
He stood up and walked toward what was left of the house.
The walls were already consumed by fire. The roof collapsed in cracking bursts, releasing a bitter stench of smoke, charred wood, and scorched blood. The fields… the fields were in ruins. The wheat he had planted with his father that very morning now lay blackened, tangled in burned earth and the mangled remains of fleeing animals.
Maria watched her son in silence.
She knew exactly what he was feeling.
In that now-scorched soil, all her children had been born. It was there they healed from illness, heard stories at night, made plans for the future. It was on that porch she fell in love with Arthur all over again, each night he returned home—sweaty, smiling, exhausted from work.
And now all of it… burned.
The memories crumbled into ash before her eyes.
And amidst that scene of destruction—between muffled screams and silent prayers—Elian's body remained still.
---
Minutes passed. Maria was on the verge of losing the last bit of control she had left.
She kept Elian's head on her lap, watching Anthony standing near the ruins, when suddenly—she felt it. A small twitch in Elian's body. She turned so quickly that a brief dizziness struck her.
She wasn't the only one who noticed—Emanuelle, who had been beside them, felt it too.
Maria's first instinct was to call his name. He didn't respond, but something had changed in his face. His eyes, still closed, began to release silent tears.
Maria didn't understand what was happening. All she could do was wipe them away. And as she did, Elian's eyelids slowly opened.
"Son?" she asked, her voice trembling, caught between hope and dread.
Still lying across her lap, Elian stared into her face. He saw the anguish in her eyes, the desperate anticipation… and also—briefly—a flicker of joy. Joy at seeing him awake. But he knew that joy wouldn't last. Because only he knew the truth.
Before he could speak, Maria pulled him into her arms. Her restraint shattered. She began to cry—quiet, trembling sobs. Tears born of hope, of relief, of the overwhelming truth that her son… was still alive.
Then, finally, he spoke:
"Mother…"
His voice was faint, almost breathless, but carried the weight of someone returning from a place no one should ever go. It was a sorrowful voice. Not because of what he saw—but because of what was coming. And worst of all… he didn't know how to stop it. He never had. Not even in his past life.
"Thank the stars you're awake, son!" Maria said. "I… I—" Her voice broke, overwhelmed by relief. Relief that nothing had taken him away.
Before she could finish, Emanuelle hugged him tightly, repeating his name over and over.
"Eli! Eli!" she cried, her voice trembling as she clung to him. The bond between the two of them was unmistakable.
Elian looked at his mother, at Emanuelle, and at Anthony—who had returned upon hearing his brother's name. Concern still shadowed his face, but a spark of hope now flickered there.
Then, like a thunderclap in his mind, Elian remembered his father's final words: "Protect them."
From the outside, it might have sounded like a heavy burden—or even selfish. But Elian knew the truth. That plea was a sign of trust. Arthur believed in him.
Even if Arthur hadn't said it, Elian would have done it. Because now… he was all that remained to protect them.
Elise approached with calm, silent steps.
She held a waterskin and offered it to Elian — a subtle gesture to help him regain focus and composure. She already suspected the collapse had been triggered by a surge of anxiety. And deep inside, she knew this was only the beginning.
"Thank you," he murmured after taking a sip. The water brought a faint sense of clarity back to his body — as if tethering his soul once more to the material world.
"How long was I unconscious?" he asked.
"Approximately fifteen minutes," Maria answered, her voice steadier now.
"Fifteen minutes?" Elian thought.
"It felt like hours… or days… inside that ethereal field."
He reached a silent conclusion:
"Time doesn't follow the same rules in that place. It flows differently…"
A hush fell over the group.
The cold dawn wind scraped against their skin, slipping through torn clothing like icy needles, stinging faces and biting through the fatigue left behind by a night of terror. The air still reeked of scorched flesh — a cruel reminder of what had been lost.
Then Marduk spoke — breaking through the silence with words that had been hovering, unspoken, in everyone's mind.
"We need to find Mr. Arthur," he said, pulling the others back from their thoughts.
"Yes," Gremory affirmed, voice hardening.
"We need to go now. He was unconscious when he was taken, right, Marduk?" he asked, turning toward the elder mage.
"Exactly," Marduk replied, rising to his feet and brushing dust from his cloak.
"He was dragged in that direction."
He pointed toward the forest — not directly behind the house, but veering left, toward a thicker patch of woodland.
"Alright," Elise said, decisive.
"Gremory and I will search. Elian, Maria, Anthony, and Emanuelle stay here with Marduk."
But she hadn't even finished issuing the order before two voices cut through the air almost at once:
"I'm going too!" said Elian.
"And me!" Maria added firmly.
Elise froze.
She tried every argument to dissuade them. Emotional appeals. Logic. She reminded them that Emanuelle was exhausted and might awaken terrified. She said Maria needed to remain beside her children — and Elian, still just a child, had only just recovered. She appealed to their protective instincts.
But when she turned and saw Emanuelle, already asleep from sheer exhaustion — dirt streaked across her cheeks, breath slow and shallow — she realized no argument would hold.
Then she looked at Elian, ready to rebuke him. But he didn't flinch.
"I know where he is," he said, voice tight with pain.
Elise stiffened.
Before Elian returned from the ethereal realm, the owl had offered him a gift for conquering the first tunnel — anything he wanted. Anything at all… except bringing Arthur back. That was the only rule.
Elian didn't hesitate. He asked to know where his father's body was.
The owl, silent and still, had agreed.
"I'll take you there," it had said.
Elise wanted to deny it. It made no rational sense — how could a boy who had just regained consciousness know such a thing? But then she looked into his eyes. Gold like Arthur's. In them, she saw profound sorrow… and a painful clarity that couldn't be faked.
Maria didn't want her son to go.
She feared what they would find. She feared that if Arthur was dead, it wouldn't be a clean death. He'd likely been tortured. She didn't want Elian to witness that. She didn't want him to carry another scar.
But when Elise gave a subtle nod of assent… she knew it was useless to protest.
Maria had known Elise long enough to understand — the mage did not bend easily. If she allowed Elian to come, it was because she believed him.
Maria hadn't been present when Elian had awoken screaming in terror, eyes dilated and skin soaked in sweat. But now, as she looked at him, it was impossible to deny — there was a glow in his gaze that wasn't fear… but certainty.
The kind of certainty born from pain.
"Marduk, stay with Anthony and Emanuelle," Elise instructed.
"Cast an illusion barrier, if possible."
Marduk nodded, wordless. His eyes, heavy with weariness, seemed to already know what they were about to face.
Elise, Gremory, Maria, and Elian set off toward the path Marduk had indicated.
The forest loomed ahead, dark and silent — a gaping mouth ready to swallow what remained of that family.
Their steps were steady, but the silence between them was deafening.
Elise and Gremory still held out hope, deep down, that Arthur might be alive.
Maria, though she said nothing, already knew something was wrong.
Still… she kept walking. Because that's what mothers do.
And between them walked Elian —
The boy who had returned from a spiritual hell.
The boy who now knew where his father's body lay.
And the boy who had no idea how to console his mother… or his siblings… when they found him.
High above them, gliding in slow circles, flew the owl.
Silent. Watchful.
A harbinger cloaked in feathers of white, black, and red.
A mirror of what Elian would never be able to forget.