Night had fully settled over the forest.
The last remnants of sunset were gone, swallowed by layers of shadow and canopy. Only faint starlight filtered through the ancient trees, breaking into scattered fragments on moss and roots below. The air was cool now, carrying the damp scent of soil and old leaves.
Inside the tent,
He had been awake for a while.
He could feel it—Anna wasn't resting.
Her presence was there, steady and alert, like a mountain that never slept. That alone made his chest tighten. He had delayed this conversation long enough.
David inhaled slowly.
Anna remained seated, her back straight against the tree root, eyes half-lidded but alert.
She was watching David.
David sat opposite her, knees drawn slightly inward, shoulders relaxed on the surface—but inside, his thoughts churned.
She knows more than she's saying.
Her earlier words echoed in his mind.
Power that comes too easily can rot the will.
He inhaled slowly through his nose, then exhaled, steadying himself.
This isn't fear, he told himself.
It's respect.
Anna broke the silence first.
"You've been unusually quiet," she said.
Her tone was neutral. Not accusatory. Not gentle either.
David lifted his gaze.
"I'm thinking," he replied.
Anna's eyes sharpened slightly.
"About what?"
About whether I should say more," he admitted.
Anna didn't immediately respond.
She studied his posture instead. The way his shoulders weren't hunched defensively. The way his breathing hadn't quickened. The way his gaze didn't avoid hers.
He's not afraid of being punished, she realized.
He's afraid of burdening me.
That realization settled uncomfortably in her chest.
She spoke again, slower this time.
"David," she said, "you don't owe me explanations for every strange thing that happens to you."
David shook his head.
"I know."
He clenched his jaw, then released it.
Like a mother watching her child struggle to breathe under the weight of something he shouldn't be carrying alone.
David swallowed.
The words had been sitting in his chest for hours—pressing, scraping, growing heavier every time he looked at her.
If I don't say it now…
I might never say it.
"Mom," he finally said.
His voice came out slower than he intended, rough around the edges.
Anna didn't answer immediately. Her eyes lifted fully to his face, sharp and focused, pupils reflecting the faint firelight.
"Yes?" she said calmly.
David drew in a deep breath.
Then another.
Then let it out slowly, like he was bracing himself before stepping off a cliff.
"First," he said carefully, "you have to promise me something."
Anna's brows drew together.
Her eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in suspicion.
"I don't make promises blindly," she replied. "If you don't want to say something, don't force yourself."
"No," he said, exhaling heavily. "I'm not forcing it."
He looked up at her, meeting her gaze directly.
"I'm telling you because I trust you," he continued. "Because of the bond we have."
His voice grew steadier as he spoke.
"But I can only tell you about my current abilities. Not the full inheritance. Not how I obtained it."
Anna's expression didn't change, but her attention sharpened.
Silence fell again—thick, pressing.
Anna studied him for a long moment,
"Then speak," she said. "Slowly."
David took a breath when he saw Anna still listening—really listening.
He knew this was the point of no return.
"Let me explain it properly," he said quietly.
Anna didn't interrupt. She only nodded once, signaling him to continue.
"When something dies," David said slowly, choosing each word, "it releases an energy. Not qi—at least, not qi as we know it. It's something… left behind."
He lifted his hand slightly, fingers curling as if grasping something invisible.
"That energy doesn't last forever," he continued. "It dissipates. The longer the time passes after death, the weaker it becomes, until it vanishes completely."
Anna's brows furrowed.
"So the sooner you absorb it," she said, "the stronger it is."
"Yes," David nodded. "That's why the earliest moment is the best. If I wait too long, there's nothing left to take."
Her chest tightened.
This wasn't a wild, reckless ability.
It was… systematic.
"When that energy enters my body," David said, touching his chest, "it behaves like qi. It flows through my meridians. It gathers in my dantian."
He swallowed.
"But it also does more than that."
Anna felt her breath slow, instinctively bracing.
"It heals me," David said. "Faster than normal qi. Inner injuries, torn meridians, fatigue—it repairs them."
Anna's fingers curled tightly at her side.
"And breakthroughs?" she asked.
"Yes," David answered honestly. "It helps with that too."
Her heart skipped.
"I broke through Stage Two using it," he said. "And Stage Three as well."
Anna's eyes widened slightly before she could stop herself.
David noticed.
"I tested it," he continued. "Carefully."
Her voice came sharper than she intended. "Where?"
David hesitated.
Then answered.
"At the base graveyard."
Silence slammed down between them.
Anna felt a cold wave pass through her body.
The base graveyard.
A place filled with lingering death.
Now it made terrifying sense.
"There," David said, "the energy was… abundant. I absorbed only what I could handle. I didn't lose control."
He met her gaze.
"I reached the peak of Stage Three there."
"The qi you sensed earlier… it came from the Stonehide Boar."
Her chest tightened painfully.
So that's where it came from…
She remembered it now—his sudden solidity, his stabilized aura, the way his presence had changed almost overnight.
She had noticed.
She had chosen not to ask.
"I didn't want to worry you," David said quietly. "And I knew if I explained it without understanding it myself, it would only scare you."
"…You're sure," Anna said at last, her voice slower than usual, "that it doesn't hurt you?"
David nodded immediately, almost too fast.
"Yes. I swear."
She looked up then, finally meeting his eyes.
"You're not guessing," she pressed. "You're not assuming."
"No," he said firmly. "You checked me yourself. My meridians. My organs. My dantian."
Anna's lips pressed into a thin line.
That part… she couldn't deny.
She had checked him.
More than once.
Anna closed her eyes briefly.
Fear rose—but it wasn't fear of him.
It was fear of the world finding him.
"This energy," David continued, voice steady but restrained, "I don't fully understand it yet. I only know what it has already done."
He shook his head slightly.
"But I'm certain it has other uses. I just… haven't experimented with them."
Anna's heart clenched.
Experimented.
A child shouldn't have to say that word.
"I was planning to tell you," David said. "Soon. When I understood it better."
He looked down.
"But you're experienced. You noticed things I couldn't hide anymore."
He looked back up, eyes serious.
"So please believe me when I say this—I'm not hiding this to deceive you."
He clenched his fists.
"I'm hiding the inheritance because if I don't… it will be dangerous."
Anna opened her eyes sharply.
"For you?" she asked.
"For both of us," David said immediately. "If anyone connects it back to you… I don't know what would happen."
The forest felt colder.
Anna finally stepped forward.
She placed both hands on his shoulders.
Firm. Grounded. Protective.
"You did right," she said quietly.
David froze.
"You tested carefully," she continued. "You restrained yourself. You didn't chase power blindly."
She searched his eyes.
"And you came to me before losing control."
Her voice softened, but her grip didn't.
"That matters more than the ability itself."
David felt his chest loosen slightly.
"I promise," he said. "I won't misuse it."
Anna nodded slowly.
Inside her mind, fear still echoed.
But now it was paired with resolve.
If death follows my son, she thought,
then I will make sure he never forgets the value of life.
"But," she added immediately, "you will not test its limits recklessly. You will not seek death for power. And you will not fight alone when your instincts tell you to retreat."
She stared at him.
"You already nearly died several times this month. Don't make me bury you because of curiosity."
David's throat tightened.
"I won't," he promised.
"You're afraid I'll forbid it," she said.
David didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Anna clicked her tongue softly.
"If I forbade things I didn't understand," she said, "you'd never have survived this world."
She leaned forward, forearms resting on her knees now, mirroring his posture from earlier.
"But you will listen to me," she added sharply.
David nodded instantly. "Always."
"You don't seek death," Anna said. "You don't chase killing for strength."
"I don't," David said firmly.
"And you don't use this ability around others," she continued. "Not openly. Not carelessly."
"I won't."
Her gaze hardened.
"And if something ever feels wrong—if your instincts tell you this energy is changing you—"
"I'll tell you," David said. "Immediately."
"So… you're not angry?" he asked.
Anna glanced at him sideways.
"Oh, I'm angry," she said flatly.
David stiffened.
"But not at this," she added. "I'm angry you thought you had to carry it alone."
Her voice softened.
"You're still my son."
David's chest tightened painfully.
"Yes," he whispered.
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