"Maria and Elian, be careful," said Elise, as they entered the forest.
The interior was dense, filled with twisted trees and the sounds of animals hidden under the shadows. It wasn't easy to perceive them — one had to listen more than see, paying attention to the subtle movement between the foliage. The cold morning wind blew between the trunks, carrying with it an unsettling feeling, as if the forest itself whispered warnings that no one could understand.
Branches cracked in the distance. A nocturnal bird let out a hoarse call, and then silence. A tense silence. Alive.
In the sky, distant and solitary, the same star Elian had seen on the day of his departure, when he said goodbye to his family and left with Elise, still shone. Now, it was still there, watching, as if silently following what was about to unfold.
The sun — already rising on the horizon — tinged the skies with shades of orange, pink, and pale yellow. For many, it was the herald of a new day. In some mythologies, it represented the end of darkness, the light that expelled demons, the promise of rebirth.
But here… now… the sun seemed impotent.
It wasn't that it brought pain — but that it couldn't drive it away. The light didn't reach the heart of that forest. Nor the hearts of those walking.
Maria, upon hearing Elise's warning, moved closer to Elian. Not out of precaution… but by instinct. She wanted to protect her son — even knowing she couldn't do anything, even aware that she had neither magic nor strength. If a beast attacked, she would fall first. And she would do it without hesitation.
This was the love of a mother: to be the shield, even if made of fragile flesh.
The group continued in silence. The kind of silence that screams. That says everything the body doesn't have the courage to admit. They avoided talking, even avoided breathing too loudly. The forest seemed to listen.
Elian, however, had never heard of such creatures. His father never told him about beasts or dangers inside the forest. He had only forbidden him to go.
The path the owl led them on shifted between narrow and open, sometimes forcing them to squeeze between trunks, other times opening up enough for them to walk side by side. The ground was unstable, covered with damp leaves, protruding roots, and broken branches. At certain points, there were remains — pieces of darkened flesh, chewed bones, tufts of fur — signs of prey hunted and left to rot.
The smell of old blood and decay mixed with the damp aroma of wet wood. There was even a faint scent of sulfur, coming from some decomposed carcass.
Elian's stomach churned.
"Elise…" he called, his voice low, as if afraid the forest might hear him. "My father told me never to come here. He said I could only enter when I became stronger… What's so dangerous about this place?"
His question was sincere. He had been holding onto this doubt for years.
Arthur never explained why the prohibition. He had just instructed him firmly: "Never go to the dense part of the forest. Never." Once, Elian had questioned him — especially after seeing some village children return with animals they had hunted. Arthur had simply answered that they hunted in another region, near the river, where it was safe. And he never elaborated.
But now, as he walked among trees that seemed to be watching them… the silence, the remains of flesh, the smell of death… everything screamed that this place wasn't safe. That it never was.
Still, Elian moved forward.
A part of him felt like he was in a silent procession, a march toward the inevitable.
Because, more than the forest… he feared what they would find at the end of it.
Elise kept walking, thinking about how to explain this to a child.
She knew Elian wasn't an ordinary child — she had realized this. In various moments, he displayed a maturity and lucidity that surprised her, far beyond any other boy his age. But still, he was a child. He had a fragile body. He had fears. And he had limits. She needed to choose her words carefully.
After a few seconds of silence, she replied:
"Well… do you remember one of the books you read in my office?" she asked, glancing at him.
Elian nodded.
"So," Elise continued, "although this area may seem calm, there are still some of those wild beasts around here. Nothing extreme, maybe beasts ranked four or five."
She paused briefly, letting him absorb the information.
"For a mage, a knight, or even a trained arcane swordsman, these creatures wouldn't be a big threat…" Her eyes now fixed directly on his. "But for children like you… they would be fatal. Even if you're already walking the path of magic."
Elian swallowed hard.
It wasn't fear — but precaution. He remembered, right then, how he had considered exploring this forest on his own, in secret. Thinking about it now sent a chill up his spine. It was a good thing he had never made that mistake.
"I don't quite remember…" he said, his voice softer, still processing, "How do the wild beasts come about?"
It was a valid question. Even though he was reincarnated, he still didn't have mastery over all the technical terms of this world, especially those related to magical fauna. And the concept of "mana mutation" still sounded distant to someone who grew up in the countryside, even with an advanced mind.
Elise sighed, still keeping her eyes on the trail.
"I'll explain it better another time," she answered firmly, but without harshness. "But, briefly… they are mutations caused by the mana of the environment. Instability, corruption, excess… it depends on the region."
She stopped for a moment and pointed with her chin toward the path ahead.
"Now let's go. Lead us, please."
The command was clear, but not harsh.
Maria, who was walking close to her son, instinctively holding his arm, didn't like the tone. She felt something tighten in her chest — a nearly automatic impulse to reprimand Elise. But she held back.
She was also in a hurry.
She needed to find Arthur. Or… what was left of him.
★★★
Elian nodded and looked up, following with his eyes the direction the owl was taking. Elise followed his gaze but saw nothing. In the sky, the bird veered slightly to the left, flying through the denser treetops of the forest, into an area where the vegetation became more tangled and irregular.
"Over there," Elian said, pointing to the side of the trail, moving off the main path.
Gremory looked at Elise, waiting for her opinion.
"Are you sure?" he asked, watching the boy.
"I am," Elian replied firmly.
Gremory nodded, accepting the answer.
"Then let's go," Elise declared, turning in the indicated direction.
They continued walking. With each step, the forest seemed more closed and dark. The air grew heavier, the ground more uneven, covered in dry branches and roots rising from the earth. The smell also changed — from damp earth to something more metallic and unpleasant. The sounds of the forest began to disappear. There were no birds singing, no insects. Everything went silent.
Further ahead, the group stopped.
The clearing appeared like a wound opened in the middle of the forest.
But it wasn't a relief. There was no peace there.
It was as if the forest had receded in fear — not respect. The trees, usually so dominant, seemed to shrink on the edges, curving their twisted trunks toward the center of the opening, as if trying to spy on what was happening there… or as if they were apologizing for existing so close to that place.
The canopy was thick, but there, strangely, light managed to enter — not like a ray of hope, but like an invasive, harsh, almost cruel gaze. The beams of light filtering through the branches created long shadows that seemed to move on their own.
The ground was covered by a thick layer of dead leaves, but there was no color there. Only shades of brown, gray, and black. The air was still. Heavy. As if the clearing was breathing by itself, slow and suffocating.
The sound was also different. Far from there, the sound of birds filled the woods — but here, there was no song. No innocent rustling. Only dry snaps of broken branches… the muffled buzz of hidden insects… and, from time to time, a heavier sound, a dull creaking, as if something — or someone — was moving beneath the earth, and at the center of the clearing, there was a body.
Maria saw it first.
She didn't need to get close. She didn't need to see the face. A glimpse of the body lying in the center of the clearing — motionless, discarded like a broken doll — was enough for everything inside her to collapse. She recognized the shirt dirty with mud, the shape of the shoulders, the way one of the hands remained half-open… details only someone who loves deeply would distinguish.
"Arthur…" she said, her voice failing midway.
And then she screamed.
"ARTHUR!"
The scream crossed the clearing like a blade, cutting the silence with a pain that seemed to have no room in her chest.
The tears came violently. Not like a calm and contained sob, but like a dam bursting. Her whole body trembled, overcome by a despair that ignored logic, time, or strength. She tried to run to him, but her legs gave out before even the first step. She fell to her knees, her hands sinking into the damp ground, her nails scraping the earth without noticing.
She stayed there, unable to move forward, staring at the body she could barely see through the tears. Everything spun. The air seemed to disappear from her lungs. Each attempt to breathe turned into a deep, ragged sob, as if her very body was refusing to accept what it saw.
"No…" she whispered, but even she couldn't hear it. The word came drowned in the cry, in the pain, in the denial.
"No… it can't be…"
Her face contorted. It was the pain of losing the ground, of losing the world. Of losing the home in the form of a person.
She trembled. She couldn't think. She only felt. She felt as if a part of her were dying right there — a part that would never return.
And all that was left was the void.
And his name, burning on her lips as if saying "Arthur" was the only thing that kept her conscious.
Elian walked in silence toward his mother. His steps were slow, but firm, as if each one required more than physical strength — it required courage. When he reached her side, he knelt and embraced her silently, pulling her against his chest. Maria cried uncontrollably, and her body trembled so much that Elian had to hold her firmly, as if he were holding someone about to fall off a bridge.
He didn't say anything at first. He just stayed there, holding her, while a few tears fell from his own face. He didn't cry like before. He didn't feel the same panic, nor the same despair. Inside him… there was a strange calm.
And that bothered him.
It was as if an artificial veil of serenity had settled within him. A distancing. An insensitive clarity. He watched everything — his mother's cry, his father's body, the smell of blood in the earth — and felt as if he were seeing from afar, even though he was there.
"Is this the Gift of Vigil?" he thought, uneasy.
The idea settled like a stone in his stomach. It was possible. After everything he had faced in that ethereal realm, perhaps his mind was protecting itself, or perhaps that new mark on his soul was creating an emotional shield he didn't know how to control.
But now wasn't the time to think about that.
With effort, he pushed that doubt to the back of his mind, burying it beneath the greater urgency: calming his mother.
"Mother…" he whispered, his voice low but steady. "I'm here."
Maria, slowly, let her face slide onto her son's shoulder, gripping the fabric of his clothes with her trembling fingers. The cry didn't stop, but Elian's embrace offered a tenuous shelter, an anchor in the middle of the storm of pain.
He kept his arms firmly around her, even with his body tired, even with his soul scraped.
Because, at that moment, nothing else mattered.
Not magic. Not visions. Not answers.
Only her. Only now.
Gremory and Elise lowered their heads in respect. They understood the pain of losing. They knew what it was like to lose someone they loved.
In the clearing, no one spoke.
And above them, on the branch of a tree, the owl watched in silence. Its wings were folded, its eyes fixed on what was happening, as if waiting for the right moment to act again.