A Slow Healing
Three months had passed since their arrival at the bamboo hut by Silver Lake. Life in this secluded spot had developed its own rhythm – a rhythm that was slowly but surely beginning to heal the deepest wounds in Elena and Gareth's hearts.
Every morning began with Carsel's cries for milk. The baby had grown healthier over the past three months; his previously hollow cheeks were now plump, and his dark, deep-set eyes – a stark contrast to his burgeoning dark hair – often stared blankly without the clear focus typical of most infants.
"He's awake again," Elena murmured as she rose from the simple mattress in the corner of the room. Though her voice was still flat, the biting bitterness of three months ago was gone. The healing process was slow, but it had begun to show.
Gareth, already accustomed to waking early for his morning sword practice, had prepared warm milk. "He's growing fast. Yesterday, I saw him trying to reach for the wooden toy I gave him."
"That's normal for a baby his age," Sage said, emerging from his study filled with ancient books and strange concoctions. "What's not normal is how he reacts to the presence of magic. Yesterday, when I mended a broken stool with magic, he didn't even notice, instead busying himself sucking his thumb. For a baby with his magical potential, he should have shown sensitivity to magic by now."
Elena took Carsel from his cradle and began to feed him. The baby immediately calmed, his eyes fixed on Elena's face with full attention. "Is that a bad sign?"
"Not bad, just... peculiar," Sage replied, brewing herbal tea for their breakfast. "Arthur showed incredible sensitivity to magic as a baby. But with Carsel, he seems utterly indifferent to the world around him. He'd rather stare at his own hands than pay attention to things that should be interesting to a baby."
Gareth sat at the simple wooden table that had become their hub of activity. "Speaking of training, I feel my sword skills have deteriorated significantly. Three months without a real fight has made me weak."
"Good," Sage said in a tone that surprised Gareth. "I don't want you to be a perfect killing machine. I want you to be a wise protector. There's a big difference between the two."
"What's the difference?"
Sage sat opposite Gareth, his dark eyes intense. "A killing machine reacts with instinct and speed. A wise protector reacts with consideration and compassion. When Carsel grows up, he'll learn from how you handle conflict. Do you want him to learn that violence is the first solution, or that violence is the last resort?"
Elena, listening while feeding Carsel, said softly, "Three months ago, I would have said that violence is the only language this world understands. Now... I'm not so sure anymore."
"What changed your mind?" Sage asked curiously.
Elena looked at Carsel, who was beginning to doze in her arms. "Him. Every morning I watch him grow, and I realise that if I remain trapped in hatred and despair, he will inherit those emotions from me. I don't want him to grow up seeing the world as a place only fit for destruction."
"That's the first step towards healing," Sage said with a faint, genuine smile. "Realising that your trauma shouldn't be a legacy for the next generation."
After breakfast, their daily routine began. Sage would spend the mornings teaching Elena and Gareth the fundamentals of child-rearing, moral philosophy, and a broader world history than they had known as soldiers.
"One of the greatest mistakes rulers make," Sage said, opening a thick book on the history of ancient kingdoms, "is that they teach their children that power is everything. Yet power without wisdom only creates tyrants."
"So what should we teach Carsel?" Gareth asked, jotting down key points.
"Empathy. Justice. Sacrifice. And most importantly – that being a leader means serving, not being served."
Elena, sitting in the corner of the room cradling a sleeping Carsel, asked, "How can we teach those things when we ourselves are still learning not to hate the world?"
"By being honest with him about our struggles," Sage replied. "When he's old enough to understand, we'll tell him about the mistakes we've made, about how trauma nearly destroyed us, and about how we chose to rise and become better. Children don't need perfect parents or guardians. They need adults who are honest about their imperfections and strive to be better every day."
Afternoons were usually spent on practical activities. Elena learned to cook nutritious meals for babies and children, while Gareth repaired and maintained the hut and its surroundings. Sage used this time to tend his herbal garden, full of rare magical plants.
"Elena," Sage called out as they were preparing lunch, "I've noticed you've started smiling when you play with Carsel. That's a good sign."
Elena stopped cutting vegetables and looked at Carsel, who was napping in his cradle. "He... he reminds me of my younger brother who died when I was a teenager. I used to think caring for a small child would make me sad, but it turns out it gives me something to fight for again."
"That's a precious gift," Sage said gently. "The ability to love again after loss."
"Have you ever lost someone you loved, Sage?" Elena asked carefully.
Sage's face darkened. "Yes. My wife and child. They died because of my loss of control a hundred years ago. That's why I exiled myself here – not out of shame, but out of fear of losing control again and hurting others. Five years ago, when Arthur saved me, it was because I had almost lost control again after years of managing to restrain myself."
An uncomfortable silence fell in the room. Elena and Gareth exchanged glances, unsure how to respond to such a personal confession.
"I'm sorry," Elena whispered. "I didn't know."
"It's alright," Sage shook his head. "I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that we all carry wounds. What's important is how we use those wounds – whether to hurt others, or to become wiser and more compassionate."
Evenings were their favourite time. As the sun began to set behind the trees of Oblivion Forest, they would sit on the hut's porch, enjoying tea and chatting. Carsel, who could now sit with assistance, would play with the simple wooden toys Gareth had made.
"Look at him," Gareth said, pointing to Carsel, who was repeatedly trying to fit a wooden block into the wrong hole without realising his mistake. "He's... not what I expected for a king's son."
"He's still a baby, Gareth," Elena said softly, though there was hidden concern in her voice. "But I admit, yesterday I saw him trying to reach for something clearly out of reach, and he kept trying without learning from his failure."
Sage observed Carsel carefully. "Every child develops at their own pace. What we need to watch out for is ensuring he doesn't grow up too spoilt or unaccustomed to hardship. Overprotected children often become naive and unable to face the realities of the world."
"Like what happened to you?" Gareth asked cautiously.
"Yes," Sage admitted. "I first lost control a hundred years ago when my wife and child died due to my mistake. Then five years ago, that old trauma resurfaced, and I almost lost control for a second time. No one knew how to teach me to control it properly back then. The result... well, you already know the result."
Night-time was the quietest. After Carsel had fallen asleep, the three of them would sit around the fireplace, reading or discussing long-term educational plans for the child.
"I've already thought about the curriculum for the next eight years," Sage said, showing a long list he had written. "The first and second years will focus on basic development – language, motor skills, and social interaction with the three of us. In the third and fourth years, we'll start teaching the basics of reading, writing, and simple mathematics."
"What about physical training?" Gareth asked.
"Starting from the fifth year. Not too intense, just to build basic coordination and strength. More importantly is teaching him self-discipline and emotional control."
Elena, who was knitting small clothes for Carsel, asked, "And what about... the dark power he inherited?"
"That's the trickiest part," Sage replied seriously. "Dark affinity can be a very destructive power if not guided correctly. But if taught with the right approach, darkness can become a power to protect and heal, not just destroy."
"How so?"
"By teaching him that darkness isn't evil. Darkness is tranquility, protection, rest. Just as light can blind and burn, darkness can bring peace and healing. Perception is everything."
As they prepared for bed, Elena always checked on Carsel once more. Tonight, she found the baby awake, his eyes gazing at the ceiling with an oddly thoughtful expression for an infant.
"Hey, little one," Elena whispered, gently touching Carsel's cheek. "Do you know how many people love you? How much hope we've placed in you?"
Carsel turned towards Elena and smiled – his first truly clear smile. In that moment, Elena felt something that had long been missing from her life: pure and simple happiness.
"You're going to grow into someone extraordinary," Elena whispered. "And we'll make sure that extraordinary means good, not bad."
In the next room, Sage stood at the window, gazing at the stars. Five hundred years of waiting, and finally the child of prophecy was in his care. Now began the hardest part: ensuring that the prophecy ended in salvation, not destruction.
But for tonight, seeing Elena smile for the first time in months, and hearing Gareth laugh as Carsel tried to reach for his toy, Sage felt a little more optimistic about the future.
Perhaps they really could do it. Perhaps love and patience were indeed strong enough to overcome the encroaching darkness.