Dawn broke over Vanhart not as warmth, but as sharpening.
The sun rose behind snow-draped mountains, a pale white orb struggling against clouds of frost. Its light did not melt the cold—it refined it. Every breath seemed cut from ice. Every shadow, tempered like steel.
Kel moved through the estate corridors before anyone else woke.
His steps were soundless.
His coat trailed behind him like night yet unwilling to leave.
The courtyard was half-covered by mist when he reached it. Snow from the night before lay undisturbed, save for the imprint of his boots. He stopped at the center of the open grounds.
Closed his eyes.
Breathed once.
Then—
His aura stirred.
Root Core Expansion
The air hummed.
Not loud.
Like ice cracking far beneath a frozen lake.
Kel extended his aura inward first—toward the core seed at his lower abdomen.
[Anomalous Aura Core: Red Irregular]
Active. Thrumming with new strength.
He guided it carefully.
Each pulse was slow, deliberate. Not to overwhelm—but to stabilize.
He pictured the root.
Expanding.
Branching.
Testing the soil of his body.
Wind shifted.
Frost on the railings quivered.
Fragments of snow lifted into air around him, suspended weightless for a heartbeat.
Only 1%.
If he released more now, the land beneath his feet would fracture.
The core expanded to its threshold.
Then—
He retracted it.
A controlled breath.
A quiet exhale through lips barely parted.
Only then did he open his eyes.
Cold steam trailing from his mouth.
Training complete.
A Brief Morning
He returned inside.
Servants crossed his path and lowered their heads—more deeply than the day before. Even in stillness, something in him radiated pressure, as though his limbs now carried not just flesh but resonance.
He washed.
Dressed simply.
A dark robe. High collar. Hair loosely tied at the back with a thin ribbon.
His complexion remained cold, but his eyes—though calm—held something taut beneath.
At breakfast, his motions were composed.
He ate little.
Reina watched him in silence, spoon idle.
Landon consumed with soldier-like efficiency.
Sera glanced once, quietly assessing tension in Kel's posture—her own memories stirring.
Count Vanhart observed with newfound respect.
No one spoke of the treatment.
Not aloud.
But the atmosphere shifted around him.
Today.
It would begin today.
Kel finished his tea.
Wiped his lips briefly.
Then stood.
Field Inspection
He walked with Count Vanhart and two agronomists to the highland test field.
The soil was still cold, but—
Sprouts.
Kel knelt beside one.
Thin, but tinted faintly red.
Harlroot.
Alive.
"Impossible," one specialist whispered.
"No." Kel's eyes narrowed. "Expected."
He pressed two fingers gently to the sprout.
Winter mist clung to his eyelashes.
"Harlroot grows in adversity," he murmured. "It is a root that thrives where endurance is greater than comfort."
Reina, who had followed at a distance, heard and turned her gaze toward him.
Like someone I know.
Kel stood.
"Double their rations," he said. "Start direct hydration channels from melted snow. Shift the outer workers to night rotation to prevent frostbite."
Count Vanhart nodded, scribes rushing to note orders.
Kel turned.
Left the field.
Time was moving.
The Beginning of Treatment
Lysenne sat upright in her chamber.
She did not tremble.
But her hands were clasped too tightly around the edge of her blanket.
Her hair, brushed and loose, framed her face in soft waves. Her cheeks held faint color—not from warmth.
From resolution.
When Kel entered, he gave a nod.
To her.
Not her father.
She answered with a shallow breath and lowered her eyes, then looked up again.
Kel removed his coat.
Folded it on the chair.
Then knelt beside her bed.
No magic circle.
No ritual fanfare.
Just a boy kneeling on cold stone.
Her breath hitched.
"You may feel discomfort," he said quietly.
Lysenne's lips parted.
"Will it be like this morning?" she asked.
Kel shook his head.
"This morning," he replied, "I only trained."
Her eyes widened.
He lowered his palms to her legs.
Just above the knee.
His fingertips were warm.
Almost startlingly so.
Then—
He invoked Sairen's blessing.
Not aloud.
Within.
The lake's memory flowed through him.
Cold.
Deep.
Calm.
An anchor.
Do not exceed 1%.
He opened the channel.
Gently.
Her nerves ignited.
Five Hours
Lysenne gasped—but Kel's hands held steady.
"Breathe," he said, voice low.
She exhaled shakily.
Pain lanced through her legs like heated needles sinking into frozen flesh.
She almost recoiled.
Almost.
Kel's aura steadied the flow—not soothing it, but directing it.
His voice guided her.
"Pain is signal. Let it speak. Do not drown in it."
Her knuckles whitened.
"It—hurts."
"Yes," he replied. "You're alive."
His thumbs gently pressed into the joints, rotating subtly.
Bone realignment.
Vein restructuring.
Ligament stimulation.
Every touch timed with his breathing.
His aura moved through his hands like threads.
Golden.
Leaf-like.
A whisper of Sairen's water glowed beneath her skin faintly before dissipating.
Lysenne started trembling.
Sweat beaded on her brow.
She clenched the sheets.
He saw.
And continued.
He said nothing further.
But stayed.
Minutes became an hour.
An hour became two.
Her breathing grew unstable.
He adjusted pace—slower now.
Not retreat.
Adaptation.
By the third hour, tears streaked her cheeks silently.
He did not wipe them.
Instead—
He shifted one knee, leaning closer.
His voice reached her.
Barely more than a breath.
"You are still enduring."
She swallowed.
Air caught in her throat.
"...Why?"
He paused—hands still working.
Then.
Softly.
"As long as you breathe," he murmured, "there is room to move forward."
Her eyes squeezed shut.
By the fourth hour—
Kel's posture showed strain.
His fingers trembled once.
He shifted to counteract.
Sairen moved through his link.
Your body weakens. Stop.
Not yet.
You risk muscle collapse.
She has endured more years than this hour.
Silence.
Then Sairen's whisper cooled.
I will stabilize your flow. Do not push beyond that.
Thank you.
The fifth hour crept in slow.
Lysenne's breaths evened.
Shock.
But stability beneath.
Kel withdrew his hands slowly.
Then exhaled.
A bead of sweat fell from his jaw.
Not from effort alone.
From restraint.
Her legs lay still.
But different.
Color returned.
Veins pulsed faintly.
She looked at him through wet lashes.
"...The pain stopped."
Kel nodded.
"It will return tonight," he said. "Your body adapting. But slower. Less violently."
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then whispered—
"...Thank you."
Kel's eyes flickered briefly.
Not soft.
But acknowledging.
"Treatment resumes tomorrow."
He stood.
His legs were stiff.
He hid it well.
Malloren moved forward—as if to lift her from bed.
Kel was there first.
He carried her.
Gently.
As he had lifted Sera once after the bath.
One hand behind her back.
One beneath her knees.
Lysenne's eyes widened—face flushing so deeply she almost hid her face.
Her father stilled, surprised.
Kel adjusted his grip so her weight was balanced.
Then nodded.
"To dinner."
The Hall
Servants turned first.
Then froze.
Count Vanhart stood.
Sera's spoon halted mid-air.
Reina blinked slowly.
Landon's eyes narrowed, assessing Kel's energy strain but finding control.
Kel walked calmly through the dining hall.
Carrying Lysenne in his arms.
Her fingers curled lightly into his sleeve—not to cling.
To steady herself.
He lowered her into her chair, bending so her legs rested without stress.
Only then did he release her.
He straightened.
Met no eyes.
But every gaze followed him.
He took his seat after.
No announcement.
No pride.
Just motion resumed.
Lysenne touched her knees beneath the table.
For the first time in years—
she felt warmth there.
Not imagined.
Real.
Kel lifted his cup and drank.
Count Vanhart's voice came softly.
"…Tomorrow?"
Kel set the cup down.
"Yes."
A silent snowstorm settled beyond the windows.
Inside—
the first day had passed.
And someone who thought she would never walk again—
felt her legs.