Bael opened his eyes slowly. The first thought that surfaced was raw and simple:
'¿Am I still alive?'
His vision cleared gradually. When focus returned, the familiar wooden ceiling loomed above him—though the edges remained soft and hazy for several long seconds.
"Where… am I?" he rasped.
His throat felt scraped raw, as if he hadn't spoken in days. He tried to swallow; his mouth was parched, offering nothing.
He shifted. Pain lanced through every muscle and joint. Still, he forced himself upright and leaned back against the wall.
Bandages—clean, tightly wrapped—covered his torso and arms. The faint scent of medicinal herbs lingered on the cloth.
Memories returned in sharp fragments: the intruders falling one by one without resistance, the walk home through the snow, then the Rank 4 undead his mother had summoned as his final trial. He remembered the blade descending, the absolute certainty of death… and then nothing.
Once his breathing steadied, he scanned the room. His own bedroom. The same narrow bed, the same frost-rimed window filtering pale winter light.
A long breath escaped him. He sank back onto the pillow.
He was alive.
How it had happened didn't matter in that moment. He had survived. That was enough.
He did not believe his mother had intervened at the last second. She never rescued anyone from a trial. Failure was final.
Quick, hurried footsteps broke his reverie. Someone was running toward the room.
The steps halted just outside the door. Bael fixed his gaze on the wood. It creaked open slowly.
Through the narrow gap appeared a pair of wide gray eyes—shimmering with barely contained tears.
The instant their gazes met, a small figure launched across the room.
"Brother!"
Elia's high-pitched cry echoed as she crashed into his chest.
Bael winced; pain flared through every wound.
"Hey—Elia, move a little—"
The words died in his throat. Warm wetness soaked through his shirt. Between choked sobs, she clung to him with desperate strength.
"What's wrong?" he asked, trying to soothe her.
She only gripped tighter.
"Sniff… sniff… I was so scared… sniff…"
Her crying grew louder.
"I thought… I thought you'd never wake up…"
Bael went still. How long had he been unconscious?
He said nothing. He simply lifted a hand and gently ruffled her tangled hair—the way he always did when nightmares woke her.
Moments later, heavier footsteps approached. Slower. Calmer.
The door opened fully.
His mother stepped inside. She wore a loose brown dress that draped her completely. Her expression was serene—almost gentle.
"Mother," Bael said. A knot tightened in his throat.
He braced himself. She would be disappointed. He had required rescue. He had failed.
He forced himself to meet her eyes, waiting for the cold judgment he expected.
Instead, warmth met him.
She crossed the room without haste, leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
"I'm glad you're awake," she murmured, brushing his cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Bael looked away. She caught his chin—gently but firmly—and made him meet her gaze again.
Then she smiled. A beautiful, genuine smile—the same radiant one she had worn the day his essence first awakened.
"And congratulations," she whispered, a playful note threading her voice.
Bael frowned, confused.
"For what?"
She straightened, smile widening.
"For reaching Rank 4, of course."
Shock struck him like a physical blow. He looked down at himself.
He felt it instantly: his essence reserves were transformed—deeper, denser, perfectly fused with his body. As though they had become one.
"Ah—"
Elia yelped as his sudden movement sent her tumbling to the floor. She rubbed her head, muttering complaints.
Bael couldn't help it—he smiled.
Beside him, his mother's melodic laughter filled the room.
She turned her attention back to him.
"How?" Bael asked, still dazed.
"Later," she said, turning toward the door.
"It's time to eat. You must be starving."
Elia trailed after her, still rubbing her head and grumbling under her breath.
Bael remained standing for a moment, letting the realization settle. His body was clean—no trace of blood or sweat. His mother must have tended to him while he slept.
He followed them. A few steps brought him to the small dining area.
A modest table waited. Three chairs. His mother and Elia were already seated.
Though neither he nor his mother required food, they ate for Elia's sake. She still needed nourishment.
Bael washed his hands and sat. A steaming plate of roasted meat sat before him.
He picked up the fork and knife and began to eat in silence.
When the meal ended, Elia and his mother were debating something trivial. Bael interrupted, voice flat:
"Mother."
She looked at him, then glanced at Elia.
Understanding, Elia left with a few small complaints.
His mother sighed softly and met his gaze again.
"I know what you're thinking. No one rescued you. When I found you, the monster was already dead."
"Me?" Bael asked, incredulous.
She nodded, pointing at him with her fork.
"Yes. You."
"But I don't remember. I was certain I would die."
"I see," she said. "That explains why you remained unconscious even after succeeding and advancing."
She paused.
"You likely triggered the breakthrough unconsciously—on the very edge between life and death. Your body was too broken for a controlled ascension, but the rupture had already begun. The process completed itself. That's why you slept for a full week."
Bael nodded slowly, though parts still eluded him. One question remained.
"How exactly did I defeat it?"
She studied him for a moment before answering.
"Your body released every drop of stored essence at once. When it did, your innate ability erupted without restraint."
"My innate ability?" he echoed.
She smiled.
"Haven't you realized yet? You've awakened mine."
Suddenly, knowledge flooded his mind as though it had always been there, etched into his very soul.
He raised a finger. A perfect sphere of ice formed at the tip—cold, flawless, beautiful.
"This is…"
He could hardly believe it. Very few possessed an elemental innate ability. He had always assumed he lacked one.
Now he understood: it was his mother's ice.
"Yes," she confirmed. "A little late… but you did it."
Seeing the pure pride in her smile, a powerful wave of warmth and satisfaction flooded through him.