“Einar!” His mother’s voice pierced through the fog of his thoughts. The scent of something cooking drifted from the kitchen, grounding him back in the present.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, still feeling the weight of the memory. It clung to him like damp mist, refusing to release its grip. As he made his way to the kitchen, his mind kept wandering back to the dream—the ceremony, the sigil, Celestia’s face. But it felt more real than a mere dream. He couldn't shake the certainty that this was a fragment of his past returning to him.
When he stepped into the kitchen, the scene felt oddly domestic given everything swirling in his mind. His mother was busy at the stove, a soft smile on her face despite how pale she looked. Her hands moved with the steady rhythm of someone trying to keep busy, perhaps to distract herself from her own exhaustion.
“Morning, Einar. You slept late,” she said, her tone light but threaded with concern. “Are you alright?”
Seeing her now, after everything she had done for him, made his chest tighten with guilt. She was still recovering from lifting the seal, her body clearly depleted of mana, yet she stood there trying to keep things normal, as if nothing had happened.
“Mother, let me handle that,” Einar said, stepping toward her, his voice firm. “You should be resting.”
She waved him off, smiling again, though the effort it took to maintain that expression didn’t escape him. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I just need to avoid using magic for a few days, but otherwise, I’m alright. Just a little low on mana, that’s all.”
Einar frowned, his concern deepening. “If you say so. I’ll go fetch some potions from Eliza today. That’ll help you recover quicker.”
“You’re such a good boy,” she said softly, her gaze filled with warmth. “Always worrying about me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t push yourself so hard,” he replied, his voice carrying more weight than he intended. The memory of her collapse was still fresh in his mind, haunting him. He knew she had done it for him, but it didn’t make it easier to bear.
“I’m stronger than you think,” she teased, nudging him gently with her elbow, though there was a faint tremor in her hand. Her smile softened, and for a moment, the mask of strength slipped. “But I appreciate it, Einar. I truly do.”
He sighed, accepting her words for now. “Alright. I’ll check on Alice. She hasn’t come out of her room yet.”
His mother nodded, her focus returning to the stove. “That’s a good idea. Yesterday took a lot out of her. She needs her rest.”
Einar left the kitchen, his concern for Alice growing as he approached her door. He knocked lightly. “Alice?”
There was no answer. His frown deepened, and without waiting, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Alice lay in bed, her fiery red hair spread across the pillow, her face unusually pale. His heart lurched as he hurried to her side, kneeling beside the bed. He placed a hand on her forehead. Her skin was burning hot, far beyond a normal fever. A knot of fear twisted in his stomach.
“Alice,” he murmured, his voice tight with worry. “Are you alright?”
Her eyelids fluttered, and she turned her head slowly to look at him. Her eyes were half-closed, and her voice came out faint and distant. “Brother…”
Panic flared in his chest as he kept his hand on her forehead, feeling the heat radiating from her. “You’ve got a fever,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “You’re burning up.”
Alice managed a weak smile, though it was clear she was struggling to even stay awake. She tried to sit up but failed, her body too weak to obey her. “It’s… the mana,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s happening.”
The realization hit him. She wasn’t just sick—this was her awakening. Her body was adjusting to the surge of mana flooding through her veins, and the fever was part of that process. But seeing her like this—so frail, so vulnerable—filled him with a sense of helplessness.
“You should’ve told me,” he scolded gently, brushing a strand of hair from her sweat-dampened forehead. “You didn’t need to hide this from us.”
“I didn’t want to worry you… or Mother,” she murmured, her eyes barely able to stay open. “But I think… I’m almost there.”
He sighed, his heart aching for her. She was always trying to protect others, never wanting to be a burden. Even now, in the throes of her awakening, she was worried about them. “Just rest, alright? I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Alice nodded faintly, her eyelids fluttering shut as she drifted back into a fevered sleep. Einar sat with her for a few moments longer, watching over her, his mind racing. Slowly, he stood and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Too much was happening, too quickly—the resurfacing memories, the truth of his past, Alice’s awakening. It all felt like a storm swirling around him, threatening to pull him under. But he had to stay strong. For Alice. For his mother. And for whatever lay ahead.
He cast one last glance at Alice before quietly shutting the door behind him. A silent promise settled in his heart—I’ll protect you. No matter what comes.
When he returned to the kitchen, his mother was still at the stove, her back to him. She turned as he entered, her expression tight with concern. “Einar, what is it?”
"Alice has a fever,” he said, his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “She’s burning up."
Lyna’s face paled further, her brow knitting in worry. She set the spoon down with a soft clink, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s happening already? She’s awakening, isn’t she?”
Einar nodded, the weight of the situation settling on them both. “Yes, and it’s hitting her hard. Her magic… it’s not like anything I’ve seen before. I can feel the intensity of it. It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
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Lyna sighed, pacing slightly, her eyes distant as she tried to piece together a solution. “I feared this might happen. Our bloodline… it’s strong. Alice isn’t just awakening. Her magic will be far more powerful than most. Much stronger than we anticipated.”
Her voice was calm, but Einar could hear the fear behind it. He felt the same fear twisting in his chest. Now that he knew the truth about their lineage—his mother’s ties to the Leonhart family and their shared dragon heritage—it made sense why Alice’s awakening was so intense. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying.
“She’s not ready for this,” Einar muttered, more to himself than to his mother.
Lyna stopped pacing and turned to face him, her expression resolute. “Einar, go to Eliza. She should have some resistance potion ready for this. Alice’s magic isn’t something we can take lightly. If her body can’t handle the intensity of it…”
She trailed off, but the implication hung heavily in the air. Einar didn’t need her to finish the sentence to understand what was at stake.
“I’ll go now,” he said quickly, cutting off the growing tension in the room. “I’ll get it.”
Lyna nodded, the worry in her eyes tempered by a flicker of hope. “Please hurry. And be careful.”
He grabbed his sword from where it hung near the door, the familiar weight settling on his hip like a comforting reminder of who he was. As he reached for his waist bag, checking the coins inside, his mother’s voice stopped him.
“Do you have enough?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with anxiety.
He glanced up, trying to offer some reassurance. “It should be enough. I’ll stop by Bron’s on the way to pick up my share for the charcoal he sold. Don’t worry, I’ll get what we need.”
She nodded, though the worry never left her face. Her eyes lingered on him as if watching him closely would keep him safe. “Be careful, Einar. You’ve been through enough.”
He managed a small smile for her sake. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
** **
The path to the village bustled more than usual, the morning air filled with the hum of voices and the clattering of merchants setting up stalls. Einar noticed a familiar group—a merchant escorted by three adventurers. They were regulars, often making the trek between towns, and he'd seen them a dozen times before.
The merchant’s bulky cart was flanked by two men and one woman. Deavon, with his broad sword nearly as tall as himself, strutted with the swagger of someone overconfident in their abilities. He was a D-Rank adventurer, full of bravado but not much else. Beside him was Taron, the other D-Rank, smaller and quicker, with a set of daggers always at his waist. He had sharp, darting eyes, constantly scanning for any hint of trouble. Lastly, there was Rina, the C-Rank Sorceress, walking calmly, her wand strapped to her side. Her presence was a stark contrast to the two men—a quiet, almost meditative strength.
As Einar approached, Rina’s eyes found his, and she waved, her face lighting up with recognition.
“Einar!” she called out, her voice carrying over the noise of the market. “How’ve you been?”
He nodded, offering a quick smile, but his mind was elsewhere. “I’m alright.”
Rina tilted her head slightly, noticing his hurried pace. Her smile faded. “You seem in a rush. Did something happen?”
Einar hesitated for a moment, then decided to be straightforward. “Alice is awakening... I’m heading to Eliza’s to grab a potion for her.”
Rina’s eyes widened in surprise. She shared a look with the two men behind her. “Already? That’s... early.”
“Yeah,” Einar said, his voice tight. “She’s talented. But I need to get to Eliza’s. I’ll catch up later.”
“Of course. Go on then.” Rina smiled, a hint of respect in her voice.
Einar nodded his thanks and continued down the path, weaving through the crowd. The village loomed ahead, its familiar sights and sounds comforting yet distant. His mind was elsewhere—on Alice, on Celestia, and on the whirlwind of emotions that had been building inside him for days.
As he neared the market’s edge, he spotted Bron standing by the merchant’s stall, his tall, burly frame unmistakable. Bron was deep in conversation, his booming voice carrying over the crowd.
“There you are!” Bron called out when he noticed Einar, a grin splitting his face. He raised a pouch and gave it a shake, the clink of coins faint but clear. “Just sold the charcoal. Here’s your share.”
Einar’s mood brightened slightly as he took the pouch. “Thanks, Bron.”
Bron squinted at him, noticing the tension in his posture. “Something on your mind? You look tense.”
“Alice,” Einar replied quickly, adjusting the pouch at his belt. “She’s awakening.”
Bron’s expression shifted, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. “Ah, that explains it. Don’t let me hold you up then.”
“I’ll bring more wood later,” Einar promised, already turning to leave.
“Good luck,” Bron called after him, his voice fading as Einar pushed through the crowd and headed for Eliza’s shop.
The scent of herbs and potions greeted him as soon as he stepped inside, a familiar mix of earthy and sweet fragrances. It always grounded him, reminded him of simpler days when he would help Eliza stock shelves or gather ingredients for her concoctions.
“Eliza?” he called, his voice echoing in the quiet shop.
She appeared moments later from the back, wiping her hands on her apron, her usual calm expression softening into a smile when she saw him.
“You’re early,” she said, her voice warm.
Einar’s chest tightened at the sight of her. Eliza had been his friend for years—more than a friend, maybe, at some point. But things had changed. After the dreams, after remembering Celestia... it wasn’t the same. He couldn’t explain it to her, couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.
“Sorry to drop by like this,” he said, forcing a smile.
Eliza waved him off with a light laugh. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m always happy to see you.” There was a softness in her eyes, a fondness he recognized, but it only made the knot in his chest tighten further.
“I need a Medium Fire Resistance Potion,” Einar said, clearing his throat. “And a Medium Mana Regeneration Potion. Just in case.”
Eliza blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. “Fire resistance makes sense, but... the mana potion? What’s going on?”
Einar shrugged, trying to keep his voice casual. “I’m just being careful. Alice is awakening, so...”
Eliza studied him for a moment, her lips pursing, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded and turned toward the shelves. A few moments later, she placed two vials on the counter, one filled with a shimmering blue liquid and the other glowing faintly orange.
“That’ll be forty Teks,” she said, her tone professional again.
Einar counted out the coins Bron had given him and placed them on the counter. As he reached for the potions, Eliza’s hand brushed his, lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.
“Anything for you, Einar,” she said softly, her voice carrying an unspoken promise.
The weight of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Einar didn’t know what to say. He could feel the unspoken feelings between them, the history that lingered in every glance, every word. But after everything he had learned... things couldn’t be the same.
Before he could say anything, Eliza spoke again, her voice a little hesitant. “Would you... mind spending some time with me tonight? After everything settles down?”
Einar paused, caught off guard by the question. He could see the hope in her eyes, the nervous way she fiddled with the edges of her apron as she waited for his answer. He cared for her—he really did. But now, knowing what he did about his past, about Celestia, things had become too complicated.
After a moment, he nodded, forcing a smile. “Sure. We can spend some time.”
Her face brightened, and a smile spread across her lips. “Great! Let’s meet by—”
Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed through the air, cutting her off. The sound was followed by another, louder thump, like something—or someone—was pounding against the door.
Einar’s instincts kicked in immediately. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, moving in front of Eliza as the door creaked ominously. His heart raced, his muscles tensing in preparation for whatever was about to happen.
The door burst open with a crash, and a figure stepped inside—a humanoid, its skin pale and gray, its eyes hollow and lifeless. In its hand, it gripped a broken, rusted sword, its presence filling the room with an unnatural chill.
“An undead,” Einar whispered, his grip tightening on his sword.
Eliza gasped, her face paling. “A revenant...” Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with fear.