Sleep came easily this time.
No restless thoughts, no racing mind — just the soft rhythm of Mother's hand stroking my hair until everything faded into warmth and quiet.
Then, suddenly, that warmth shifted.
The world around me dissolved into light — soft, shimmering, and endless. I stood barefoot upon a surface that wasn't quite ground, a sky of silver and gold swirling above. The air hummed with life. It was calm… yet vast enough to make my heart tremble.
A familiar voice spoke first.
> "Little one," came a tone both patient and ancient. "You've been quite reckless."
I turned. Seated upon radiant marble steps was Cerys, the Goddess of Skills herself — serene and elegant, her long hair flowing like a cascade of starlight. Her eyes, calm and sharp, regarded me with quiet disapproval.
"Lady Cerys," I breathed, bowing quickly. "I—"
"Studying until you nearly collapse," she interrupted gently, "is not the mark of wisdom, Baker. It's the mark of impatience."
Another voice chuckled softly behind me — smooth, layered with power and mirth.
> "I told you, Cerys. Mortal minds burn bright, but they burn quickly."
Turning, I found myself facing Elyon, the God of Magic — robed in deep indigo, his eyes like shifting constellations. He waved a hand and conjured a small flame, then extinguished it with a puff of wind.
> "See this flame, boy? Magic thrives when it burns steady — not when it's forced to blaze beyond its oil."
Baker swallowed hard. "I only wanted to learn faster. I felt like… like I was wasting time sleeping."
Elyon sighed. "And yet, sleep is when your mind strengthens. Without rest, even your gift will turn against you."
Cerys nodded in agreement. "Balance, Baker. Growth and rest, thought and silence — all are parts of learning. You are blessed, but even blessings need care."
A deep, gentle rumble echoed through the light as another figure appeared — Varun, the God of Farming, massive and earthy, his hair like rich soil and his eyes like greenstone.
> "Boy, you remind me of young sprouts in spring," he said kindly. "Eager to touch the sun before their roots are ready."
Then came Lyra, the Goddess of Cooking, smiling faintly, her golden apron shimmering.
> "He's just like a baker's apprentice," she teased. "Trying to finish the loaf before the dough has time to rise."
Elyon smirked. "At least his hunger is for knowledge, not destruction."
Varun chuckled. "Aye. But hunger can still consume if it's not tempered."
Surrounded by their calm but concerned faces, I felt heat rush to my cheeks. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't mean to worry anyone. I just… want to be worthy of the gift you've given me."
Cerys stepped closer, her expression softening. "And you will be — but only if you care for yourself as much as your goals. The greatest craftsman is one who hones his tools without breaking them."
Elyon flicked his fingers, and a tiny orb of light drifted toward me.
> "Take this, then. A small lesson to remember."
The orb touched my chest, and for an instant, I felt mana — the faint pulse of energy moving beneath my skin like a slow, steady current. Warm. Alive. Balanced.
> "That," said Elyon, "is what true magic feels like — quiet, flowing, patient. Do not chase it. Learn to listen to it."
I nodded, awe replacing guilt. "Yes, Lord Elyon. Thank you."
Cerys smiled faintly. "Good. Now rest, child. You've earned it."
Their light began to fade, dissolving like mist in sunlight, and the warmth of the mortal world returned.
---
I awoke in the gentle dark of my room. The moonlight streamed through the window, pale and soft.
Beside me, Mother was fast asleep in the chair, her hand still resting near my pillow. Her head tilted slightly, her breathing calm but weary. Even in sleep, her brow was faintly furrowed — worry lingering from the day before.
My chest tightened. She must have stayed with me all night…
I sat up quietly, pulling the blanket up to her shoulder so she wouldn't feel cold. For a long moment, I just watched her — the way her hair caught the moonlight, the faint smile that returned as she shifted.
"…Thank you, Mother," I whispered softly. "I'll do better."
From the doorway, I caught a faint movement — Melody, peeking in with her usual quiet precision. She saw us both, sighed softly, and left the door cracked open, a faint smile on her face before she disappeared down the hall.
I lay back down, the moonlight still tracing soft lines across the room. My body was heavy with peace, my heart full of gratitude. For the first time, I understood that my strength didn't come only from blessings or books — it came from the people who cared enough to keep me standing.
As I drifted back into sleep, I felt the quiet rhythm of mana within me — steady, calm, and alive — just as Elyon had shown me.
And for once, I didn't chase knowledge.
I simply let it settle, like morning dew waiting for dawn.