Soon after his initial success, Jiran changed focus to his heart and other organs. To his immense relief, they needed almost no healing. The tiering had progressed far enough not to leave him with ruptured and cracked organs.

After a quick prayer thanking the Fathers he was even alive, he shifted to working on his arteries. Jiran hoped that so long as there was no internal bleeding he should stabilize long enough to finish healing. Jiran lost himself in the process. Breathe, control, direct, and heal.

Eyes closed, immersed as he was, Jiran didn't notice when his mother returned. The smells of dinner cooking roused him from his intense concentration. He cautiously opened his eyes and tracked her as she prepared for the evening.

With a fresh perspective, Jiran observed his mother. She was beautiful, black hair framed a face that was almost too perfect in proportions. Green piercing eyes shifted constantly, roving the space, but never alighting on Jiran. Her strong limbs used precise and practiced movements as she weaved a fishing net on the floor.

He thought about trying to speak to her but decided against the action. If he coughed in the attempt, it would force his entire body to spasm. Possibly damaging him and undoing some of his painstaking work.

Once more he closed his eyes and got back to his task.

At some point, he heard his father come home, and a light conversation ensued, which he did not follow. It wasn't until the fire began to die and soft snoring filled the air that Jiran realized something was seriously wrong.

Why hadn't his parents interacted with him? At no point did he notice either check on him. He had assumed at some point they would try to give him water, or check to see if he was conscious at least.

To make matters worse, after his father came home the slow trickle of Density he was able to absorb from the air was cut by more than half.

Did he use more at work than usual and is now leaching from the environment to replenish his reserves, leaving less for me? My mana is completely bottomed out though, shouldn’t I also be able to absorb more than usual? Is the amount I’m getting already increased more than normal?

I never paid attention before, grr, so many questions. At this rate, I could spend all night and barely see any progress. I should just try to get some sleep. My brain is completely fried, I’m not sure how much longer I can squeeze my emotional state anyways.

Jiran let the sleep of the injured claim him. He fell deeply into dreams of laughing with his parents, running among buildings that reached for the sky, made of more metal than can possibly exist. A sky with only a single moon and sun.

Surrounded by people important to him, but without faces. They spoke in a language he couldn’t understand, their voices warm and inviting. Fun times, good times, and easy times. Waking up was a less enjoyable experience.

He stifled a groan before it could lead to excess movement. It took him several deep breaths to regain control over his pain, new and more immediate needs made the process significantly harder than yesterday.

Thirst first among them, his throat had gone raw through the night and was now screaming at him for water.

Opening his eyes he was shocked to find his mother kneeling over him. She gazed down at him with emotionless sunken eyes. A ceremonial knife was clutched in her hands, held to her chest. Her lips moved in silent prayer.

Jiran’s brain froze, and his thoughts paused in shock, forgetting even to breathe.

“Mom?” That one raspy, barely audible word broke the silence of the moment. Her eyes snapped back to the wall no longer looking down at him. She began shaking her head from side to side in choppy sharp movements.

“No no no no!”

Each of her words was louder than the last until she was screaming at the top of her lungs. The knife in her hands was raised above her head. Just as she was plunging the blade down toward Jiran’s chest, a hand from behind swallowed her tiny wrists.

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“This is not what we agreed upon, Amilla. You will let the child pass naturally, even if it pains you to be in its presence.”

His mother struggled in vain to wrench her arms free from the unyielding grip. Luckily for Jiran, she soon gave up and fell limply to the floor. Sobs wracked her body as she lay on the floor. Jiran, unable to see his mother, stared at his father, who in turn had eyes trained on the wall, refusing to return his gaze.

What in the hell is happening right now? Did she seriously just try to kill me? Why?

Shocked disbelief coursed through Jiran. Only his thoughts raced, repeating his words endlessly.

Why?

His father soon scooped up Amilla after it became clear she was unwilling to move. After he threw a small bag over his shoulder, he practically dragged her out of the hut. The last detail Jiran saw of his parents was the knife still clutched in his mother's hand.

Jiran was in a deep state of shock. By the time he came out of his ruminations, First Mother’s light was peeking under the curtain they used for a door. His racing heart had slowed some time ago, replaced with feelings of emptiness, shame, and fury.

They gave up on me, wrote me off as already dead, just because I wasn’t quick enough to recover, she was just going to finish me off, to what? Spare me the suffering of another day?

What absolute idiots. Do they think I would just give up and die off like some bug? This place clearly isn’t safe for me, if she decides to come back while dad is at work I would be completely defenseless.

Jiran wasted no more time, closing his eyes and using his rampaging emotions he grabbed lungful after lungful of Density, converted it into mana, and forced it into his joints.

The process was slow, far too slow for his comfort. Second Father rose and peaked before he was halfway through with his knees. Sweat poured from him, the thirst he had experienced that morning was a fond memory, as what he knew now was true thirst.

The first thoughts of failure were easily crushed. However, as time dragged on and he was no closer to regaining his autonomy, the fear became harder and harder to banish. He used it, pulled on the emotions, and sent them racing through him with the little mana he commanded.

Gooseflesh swept across Jiran’s body in a wave. He didn’t know how, but as sure as a storm makes waves, Jiran knew his time to act was coming to an end. Without wasting time completing another breath, Jiran opened his eyes and searched for a solution.

There has to be something here I can get more Density from. Anything left from breakfast? No. Last night's dinner? Nope, don’t see that either. What happened to the Tier four meat? I don’t see it anywhere, with how hungry I am, I would have smelled it if there was any left.

Jiran searched frantically with his eyes, gritting his teeth in pain when he moved his head to see more of the room.

Blood and pus leaked from his neck and shoulders at the movement, but he persevered. That’s when Jiran saw it, his satchel. The half-eaten bun from Elder Mireg!

He reached out with his arms to turn himself over, but only his left arm responded. The right hung uselessly, his attempt at moving it was so painful, he couldn’t hold back the scream of agony that escaped his lips.

Yet he pushed on, never stopped moving, his escalating dread pushing him forward. He knew every moment mattered.

Like a ravenous beast, Jiran crawled. His fingernails were stripped off on the prayer mat.

He pulled harder.

Blood oozed freely from skin caught and torn by the floor.

He grit his teeth and persevered.

Tears and snot ran down his face, and blood clogged his right eye, he shut it and pressed on. He kicked his legs feebly. Squirmed his body for all it was worth, and even dug his chin into the floor for purchase.

The beast in him did not relent, upon reaching the satchel he tore into it with a frenzy.

As if the bun had been searching for his hand it fell into his grip. Bloody, dirty, and dry Tier three grains entered his mouth, it was the sweetest meal he had ever tasted.

With practiced ease Jiran assaulted the morsel’s Density with his will, dominating the energy within instantly. A tidal wave of mana erupted through him.

Prioritizing on the fly, he sloppily closed the wounds on his skin. Pushing out dirt and bacteria before sealing the aching cracks.

Then came his joints. Bones and cartilage became whole, reinforced to the Tier one standard. As if his cells had been eagerly waiting to complete the Tiering, they greedily absorbed his mana. Once directed to a specific area the process was practically automatic.

If only I had known how to forcefully control and convert Density before the tiering, Jiran lamented.

Two bites later, Jiran once more found himself without mana. Like a baby phoenix, he emerged from the gore left on the floor. He stood for the first time in days. Rolling his right shoulder to test for the pain that had so nearly debilitated him just moments before.

Jiran clenched his fists in victory, any further celebration was cut short by the sounds of an approaching hubbub.

Fearing the worst, Jiran quickly scooped up the few belongings he owned into his satchel.

A knife, two changes of clothes, a short bow, a hip quiver, and a leather canteen. He donned his father's hooded cloak to mask the scar-mangled skin his tunic didn't cover, then hastened outside.