The path toward the western quarter wound uphill, past shaded bridges and arched pavilions where vines hung in silver threads. Few children wandered this far, their games were for the open plazas, not the solemn walkways of the healers' sanctum.
Caelum's small steps slowed as he neared the guarded entrance. Two sentinels in pale-green armor stood stiff at their posts, spears rooted to the ground like living trees. Their armor wasn't steel but layered barksteel, grown and hardened with elven craft, every etching humming faintly with stored mana.
"Little Master," one of them greeted, inclining his head. Though he was only ten, the guards treated him with a courtesy unusual for a child. Not out of duty to him, but to the woman who lay within.
Caelum returned the gesture with a practiced smile. "Morning, Sir Alden. Sir Fen."
"You've grown taller again," the second guard said kindly. "Soon you'll be looking us in the eyes."
"Maybe one day," Caelum replied softly. His silver-blue gaze lingered for only a moment before dropping. Beyond the threshold loomed the Verdant Sanctum...the quarters of the clan's most honored healers. It was meant to be a place of vitality, where air thrummed with herbs, blessed waters, and weaving chants. Yet for him, the scent only tightened his chest.
The heavy door creaked open after a low announcement of his arrival.
The corridor greeted him in a flood of sensation--scents sharp with crushed leaves, bitterness of alchemic tinctures, sweetness of ripened flowers. Mana clung to the air like mist, seeping through the skin, threading into the bones. For any other elf, it was soothing. But Caelum's small heart clenched as though each breath weighed more than the last.
He hesitated, then pressed forward.
Even at his age, he understood the whispers. That his mother, Brinet Ardyn, still lived only because of her lineage—daughter of the Vale's strongest bloodline, rumored to carry a dragon's drop in her veins. The Patriarch's favor had spared her. Without it, she might have been abandoned long ago, left to fade in silence like so many nameless others cursed before her.
The thought made his steps firmer. His small fists curled briefly at his sides. 'I'll heal her. No matter what it takes.'
At the inner chamber, a muffled cough broke the stillness. Then a weak but gentle voice drifted out.
"Come in."
Caelum pushed the door open and stepped inside with his brightest smile.
"Mother!"
The room softened at once. Brinet lay reclined on silken cushions, her once-lustrous hair dimmed to pale strands, skin touched with a faint unnatural pallor. Yet the moment her silver eyes landed on him, light returned to her face. She seemed less like a patient, more like a queen simply resting.
"My son," she breathed, her voice threaded with warmth. "How was your night?"
Caelum hurried to her side, careful not to jostle her. He perched on the edge of the bed, his small hands resting atop hers. "Peaceful. And yours?"
Her lips curved, though faint lines of strain showed at the corners. "Peaceful enough. When I wake and see you, peace comes easily."
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them comforting and fragile.
Then Caelum leaned forward, determination burning in his pale eyes. "Mother, I think… I think I can find a cure for you. If I can get into Rimron Royal Academy."
Her smile faltered ever so slightly. A shadow passed across her gaze, fleeting but heavy. She knew what her son could not yet fully grasp. what gnawed at her wasn't illness, but curse. A corruption of blood that no healer's art had touched.
She caught herself before the silence grew. "Oh, my boy. You'll do more than cure me. You'll rise higher than any of them. You'll become the strongest, and you'll beat the arrogance out of every fool who doubts you!"
Her sudden vigor startled him. Caelum blinked, then giggled behind his hand.
"What's so funny?"
"No one else would believe you talk like this." His voice was teasing, bright.
Brinet raised her brows in mock outrage. "Are you calling your mother a brute?"
"Hihihi—maybe just a little."
Their laughter mingled, light and clear, filling the chamber as though chasing away the oppressive mana. For a moment, they were not cursed patient and anxious son, but simply mother and child.
Brinet reached to brush his hair from his forehead, her fingers cool but gentle. Her smile lingered, though her eyes searched him deeply. "Caelum… tell me. How far along are you now? Your circulation?"
His smile thinned. He forced a laugh, rubbing his neck. "Ah, that. Still second cycle."
"Second?" Her brows drew faintly together. "Elias is already at the fifth, and Seren the fourth."
"I know." His voice dropped, tinged with frustration. "I've read the manuals again and again, but… it's like my body rejects it. Like I'm walking a path that isn't mine. How can an elf not take to healing magic?"
Her hand pressed gently against his cheek, silencing his self-reproach. "Shh. Don't speak such nonsense. You're only slower, not broken. You're ten, Caelum. Not even of age to awaken your true path. The day will come when your attributes reveal themselves. Do not let impatience poison you before that day."
"I know, Mother," he whispered, though his shoulders remained tense.
Her gaze sharpened, the softness edged with steel. "Enough. I won't hear another word. Strength gained too quickly crumbles just as fast. Patience will serve you better than fire."
As if punctuating her rebuke, she coughed into her sleeve. The sound was raw, scraping, though she forced a smile through it.
Caelum leaned forward in alarm. "Mother—"
"I'm fine," she said, dismissing his concern with a wave of her hand. "Now, shall I have the maids bring breakfast? Or will you eat with the others today?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "I promised Elias we'd greet the Patriarch this morning. If I don't, he'll never let me hear the end of it. And… I don't want the clan to think I'm spoiled or favored."
Brinet sighed, shaking her head with weary affection. "Even now, you think like an elder, not a child. Very well. But before you go, did you take the pill I told you?"
Caelum groaned, rolling his eyes as he rose from the bed. "Yes, Mother. Every morning, even though it smells foul enough to kill me. I'm not even sick, yet you—"
"Take it," she interrupted, her tone unusually sharp. "One day missed and—"
But Caelum was already halfway to the door, waving as he slipped out. "I know, I know! See you later, Mother!"
The door clicked softly shut.
Inside, Brinet's hand trembled faintly where it rested on her lap. Her lips pressed tight against words she dared not say aloud.
If only he knew… one missed day, and it would awaken to...
Her eyes lingered on the doorway long after he had gone, as though willing the boy to return. But the room only echoed with silence, heavy and unyielding.