She stood before us — straight-backed, poised, immaculate in posture.
Her short black hair brushed against her shoulders, contrasting with her pale skin and deep brown eyes that seemed to see more than they let on. Her elegance was subtle yet firm, and the dark-and-crimson military attire she wore only reinforced the authority that emanated from her.
"It's a pleasure, Mage…" I began, but she finished for me before I could.
"Akame, Miss." Her voice was soft, but carried a tone of discipline that reminded me of Iolanda.
"It's a pleasure, Mage Akame," I replied, giving a slight bow. "Forgive my bluntness, but could you take me to my son?"
A knot tightened in my throat as I said those words. They came out trembling, heavy with urgency and fear.
Akame studied me for a brief moment, as if assessing my state, then answered with quiet composure.
"Of course. I'm here at the request of Knight Iolanda."
Knight? I thought, startled. Until that moment I'd only ever called her Mage Iolanda. I had no idea about the hierarchies and titles within the Dark Throne — and honestly, none of it mattered right now.
All I wanted was one thing: to see my son. To see with my own eyes that he was still breathing.
We walked most of the way in silence. Mage Akame moved beside me without intrusion — discreet, steady — and I, feeling guilty for my own agitation, tried to make conversation as a disguised apology.
"How is Elian adjusting?" I asked carefully.
She turned toward me, her calm brown eyes glinting, and a faint smile touched her lips before she looked forward again.
"Quite well, for a six-year-old. He trains every day under one of Elder Marduk's division commanders and studies magical philosophy." She paused, searching for the right words. "He talks about you often."
Relief welled up in my chest, and I couldn't help an attempt at humor to dissolve the tightness in my throat.
"He talks a lot, does he? I hope it's good things," I said, letting out a laugh a bit louder than intended. "If not, I'll have to give him a spanking."
Akame smiled — faint but genuine — and even laughed softly with me. That simple sound warmed my heart more than the sunlight brushing across our faces.
We climbed the stairs to the building where Elian slept. The sun of Cainã pressed hot against the skin, and the lingering damp wind from the earlier rains clung to the air. Each step felt like a tug in my stomach — anxiety tangled with hope.
When we reached the corridor on the second floor, I stopped for a moment to steady my voice. Akame gave me a reassuring glance and continued leading me to the door.
She knocked twice, polite and precise.
I waited through several seconds that felt like minutes, until Iolanda's calm, firm voice answered from within:
"You may come in."
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open — finally ready to see my son.
His room couldn't have been more than fifteen square meters: spacious, airy, tidy, simply furnished — but none of that mattered. Not the size, not the books neatly lined on the desk, not the velvet curtains filtering the pale afternoon light.
What truly mattered lay on the bed — motionless.
I rushed to him without thought, without caring about Iolanda or Elder Marduk, who sat in chairs beside the bed. I fell to my knees and grasped his hand, holding it tightly.
"How is he?" I asked, unable to look away from Elian's serene face.
His hand felt warm and cold at once — a living contradiction. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, almost hypnotic — the only sign that life still lingered within him.
"He's fine, Lady Maria," Iolanda replied, her tone calm but her eyes uncertain. "He's only…"
"Only what?" I interrupted, my heart seizing. The hesitation in her voice froze my blood.
Before she could continue, Marduk answered, his deep voice cutting through the air.
"He is crossing another tunnel."
I looked at him, confused. "Is that… normal?"
"Absolutely not," said the elder, folding his hands over one knee. "Normally, passing the second tunnel doesn't take more than a day."
My stomach dropped. "Then why is he like this?" The words escaped before I could stop them, raw with panic. "What have you done to him?"
The silence that followed shattered the air itself. One of the mages standing at the doorway stepped forward, his tone sharp with indignation.
"How dare—"
He never finished. The energy that radiated from Iolanda silenced him instantly. Her presence filled the room like a rising tide — authoritative, powerful, impossible to ignore. Even I trembled, though I knew that force wasn't aimed at me.
"You know we would never harm him, Maria," Iolanda said, her voice returning to that calm, controlled, almost maternal tone.
My face burned with shame. I bowed quickly. "Forgive me. I… lost control."
"We understand," Marduk replied — his expression unreadable, but not reproachful.
For a moment, silence fell again. Only the soft crackle of candle flames and Elian's steady breathing filled the room.
Then the elder muttered, almost to himself,
"His state is unusual… this shouldn't be happening in the second tunnel." He paused, eyes fixed on Elian. "He's reacting as if he were facing the fourth."
The blood drained from my face.
I turned slowly toward my son, kneeling beside the bed and brushing a hand through his hair.
His face was too calm — peaceful in a way that terrified me.
And as I watched him, a strange sensation spread through my chest — as though, even asleep, he was far away.
Far beyond my reach.
That feeling pulsed through me — a mix of anguish and despair — and tears began to fall before I could stop them. The fear of losing my son was suffocating, more real than any physical pain.
I remembered the day he nearly died protecting Emanuelle. The memory cut through me like a blade.
Why did my child have to suffer like this?
Why did life always place him before so much pain?
And why was I, as his mother, powerless — forced to watch in silence, useless, trapped by my own fragility?
What kind of mother am I, who can only watch and pray while her son fights alone against forces I can't even comprehend?
Those thoughts tore through me when two small hands touched mine — one on each side.
On my right, Emanuelle. On my left, Anthony.
"He'll be fine, Mother," said Anthony, his voice steady in a way that didn't fit his age. "We'll wait for him to return."
"Yes, Mother… Eli's stronger than we can imagine," Emanuelle added, her voice trembling but full of faith.
My broken heart found a moment of warmth in their gesture. The heat of their hands pulled me back to reality — a fragile flame fighting not to go out.
Even so, the fear remained — a silent weight pressing against my chest.
I looked back at Elian.
I held his hand tightly, feeling the cool skin beneath my fingers. Tears kept falling, dripping onto his unmoving hand.
"Come back to me, my son… come back to your family," I whispered, my voice fading into the air.
And then, something happened.
The hand I held moved. A small, almost imperceptible twitch — yet enough to make my heart leap.
"Elian?" I breathed, caught between hope and dread.
But he didn't open his eyes.
His breathing remained slow, deep, distant — as if he were still trapped somewhere between life and another realm.
Even so, that single movement was enough to reignite a fragile spark within me.
He was still fighting.
My son was still there.