Maria's breaths hitched unevenly as she lay on the bed, her chest rising just a little too sharply each time.
"Oh… Michael…" she murmured, her voice thin, barely holding together.
Slowly, she pushed herself up.
The moment she did, faint rose-colored lines flickered beneath her skin, threading across her body like fragile veins of light, pulsing weakly as the air around her shifted and the floorboards creaked beneath her bare feet.
"I haven't used my magic in a long time… it will most likely accelerate the curse's effects…" she whispered.
She stepped out of the house slowly.
'But my son needs me… and that's all that matters right now…' she thought, her gaze lifting ahead with quiet determination.
*****
The wind whipped through the Kukuru Mountains, tossing leaves as clouds drifted over the moon, dimming the forest below.
Michael ran through the forest, tears blurring his vision. Branches slapped against his arms and legs, each breath sharper than the last as he stumbled and ran up the mountain.
"Why is life so unfair?"
He whispered to the empty forest. Only the distant chirps and creaks of critters answered him.
"Why does Mom have to go? She's the only family I have… she's the kindest person. So then why her?"
Behind him, Doctor George's footsteps slammed against the earth, uneven but determined as he pushed through the brush, his white coat fluttering wildly before he finally tore it off and continued the chase.
"Ngh...!"
He pressed on.
At last, the older man caught up and placed a hand gently on Michael's shoulder, as a rose light flashed past his eyes.
"Your mother's time is nearing its end, Michael," he said. "She wants you to be there!"
Michael shook him off violently, stumbling over tangled roots as he neared the top of the mountain.
"No!" he blurted out. "If it weren't for me… maybe she could've lived longer."
His voice shook.
"If only I never ate that…"
His foot slid dangerously close to the cliff's edge as he whispered…
"…that mushroom."
"Michael!!!" George's voice cracked through the mountains.
Time slowed as Michael's vision blurred with grief, and when he looked down, the bottom seemed close—dark and endless, almost as if it were beckoning him, when in truth the river raged far below, water crashing violently against the cliffside.
His thoughts jumbled, breaking apart under the weight of everything he felt.
'If I die here… then… I won't have to feel this pain anymore… right?'
One of his feet slipped over the edge, hovering above the endless drop to the river below.
Then... from the side of the cliff, a figure burst forward.
Maria.
As she locked onto Michael and grabbed him before he could fall, Michael's eyes widened, snapping out of his trance.
George skidded to a halt.
"Maria?!" he screamed in disbelief, the question of how a sickly woman on the edge of death could move so fast spiraled through his mind.
"Mom…?!" Michael gasped, his chest heaving.
"Remember…" Maria said softly, struggling to catch her breath. "I was the one who took you through these mountains."
She looked at him with tired but unshaking eyes as the wind tore past them.
"And I'm not so weak that I can't be there for my son when he needs me most."
Maria cupped his face.
Smack.
She slapped him lightly, then pulled him into a tight embrace. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingling with the blood on her lips.
"Oh, Michael…" she whispered.
"You really need to stop making me worry."
Her jaw tightened as her fingers curled into his shirt.
"Michael, you're a blessing. My sweet, kind-hearted boy. I thank the heavens every day for you."
Suddenly, she coughed violently, clutching her chest.
"M-Mom!"
Michael's eyes filled with tears, snot running down his nose as his lips trembled.
"But… but ever since I ate that mushroom… you've… you've…" His voice cracked. "I cursed you…"
The boy broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably.
Rain began to fall, cold droplets tapping against the rocks and sinking into the dirt beneath them. A lonely wind moved through the mountains, brushing through the trees as dusk deepened across the sky.
"Listen… Michael," she continued between coughs, wiping a tear from his cheek.
"It's not because you ate that mushroom… I've always been sick. Don't pay attention to anyone else, okay?"
Michael looked at her with glossy eyes full of tears, sniffing as he tried to pull himself together.
Despite her lungs struggling for air, each breath sharp and uneven, Maria continued.
"Someday… you'll understand… but just know this… you're special…"
Her eyes slowly grew pale, her smile still gentle as her body gradually slumped into Michael's arms.
"Please, please don't leave me, Mom…" Michael pleaded softly, his arms trembling around her. "I'll be a good boy… I'll listen more… I'll work extra… I'll work extra, extra hard…"
Despite her fading gaze, her eyes still carried pride.
"You're already… perfect," she said. "Go… you should visit the world… see all kinds of things… remember? The cultures… the people… the waters upon the skies…"
Her voice weakened further, each word slipping closer to silence.
"It's all there… the world is grand and beautiful… Michael…"
Her breath strained.
"And I'll be right there, cheering you on. After all, I'm just… an overbearing mother."
"Please… live your life… and always…"
Her voice softened.
"Always express yourself truthfully… I love you so much… my beautiful son."
Michael cried as tears fell onto her cheeks. Memories flooded his mind—the times she smiled, the stories she read to him at night, her soft laughter, the gentle kisses he used to pretend to hate.
The last warmth of life faded from her eyes. The hand that had been cupping Michael's cheek slowly fell.
"No… Mom… Mom… Mom…"
Michael called out desperately, but there was no response. He pressed his hands against her chest, willing her to breathe again, willing time itself to reverse. His vision blurred as tears fell onto her pale face while he held her tightly in his arms.
George stepped forward and placed a hand on Michael's shoulder, but the boy wrenched away.
"I'm sorry, Michael. She's gone," the doctor said softly, regret heavy in his voice as he clenched his teeth.
*****
Even after a long while, his tears wouldn't stop.
His eyes had swollen from crying. With a shaky breath, Michael carefully lifted her lifeless body and began carrying her down the mountainside.
George stood silently for a moment, forcing himself to hold back his tears for Michael's sake.
"Michael… where are you going?" he finally asked.
Michael ignored him and kept walking, his eyes hidden beneath strands of hair.
George followed behind.
Each step was painful, every movement a struggle against despair.
Time blurred as Michael finally reached the tree his mother had loved most—a massive ancient trunk whose leaves shimmered faintly beneath the steady rain, their multicolored glow dimmed by the storm.
He gently set her body down before stepping toward the massive tree. Reaching up, he grabbed a thick branch and snapped it off with a sharp crack. The force sent him tumbling to the ground, but Michael rose immediately, and without a word, he began digging.
His eyes were distant, tears still falling unseen beneath the rain, as he drove the broken branch into the soil. The earth was stubborn and hard, but he did not stop.
George watched him silently. He didn't say a word—he couldn't. Even though he knew he should, no words could pull Michael from this despair, especially not at ten years old. The only thing he could do was help him dig.
*****
Five days passed in a haze of sweat, blood, and grief.
Every bit of food George brought, Michael refused. He drank only water, his focus unwavering. They never spoke—no words could bridge the chasm between them.
They just dug.
His hands were raw and scarred, his clothes torn and stained. When the grave was finally ready, Michael shaped a tombstone from the stone slabs he had pushed and dragged himself.
Each strike of the chisel sank deep into the stone—each impact a reminder that this labor, meant to give the most important person in his life a dignified resting place, felt less like effort and more like salt pressed into an open wound.
Ten days of relentless labor left him exhausted, but at last the stone stood tall and solemn beneath the ancient tree.
Dawn broke, light spilling gently into the world from the darkness of night. He laid his mother into the grave.
The air shimmered with prismatic color; leaves spiraled skyward, flowers bloomed along the edges, and vines curled delicately around her resting place. It was as if the tree itself mourned and honored her… a quiet testament that life and magic were never truly separate.
Michael stepped back with a cold, empty smile.
His swollen eyes softened as he whispered, "It's going to take a while… but I promise I'll live my life… and always express myself truthfully. So you can rest easy, Mom."
For the first time in days, he let himself feel the faint stirrings of hope. The forest lay quiet, the morning sun rising higher, its golden light spilling through the trees, glinting off the leaves and damp earth, the scent of yesterday's rain still lingering in the air.
....he finally turned and spoke to George after days.
"Thank you… for everything you've done for us."
George smiled faintly, thinking, 'I underestimated him. Michael may be rash… but one thing is undeniable… his heart is extraordinary, just like his mother's.'
Then he spoke aloud, his voice steady but soft.
"Maria… she was a good friend of mine. So please… don't thank me. It was an honor to know such kind people."
Michael turned away from the grave, his grief still deep, but now tempered with a sense of purpose.
He stepped forward, the morning wind brushing through the trees, leaves whispering around him as the forest shdows swallowed him whole.
He carried with him a promise... to live freely, to be true to himself, and to honor his mother's love in every action.
*****
The Kukuruku Village had long since returned to its quiet rhythm. Farmers bent over their fields beneath the blazing sun beyond the village.
Wooden houses with thatched roofs lined the winding streets, smoke curling from chimneys into the clear sky. Merchants called out prices from colorful stalls stacked with baskets of fruit, vegetables, and woven fabrics, while the scent of fresh bread and roasted meat drifted through the air.
Children ran laughing along the dusty roads, chasing each other past wagons, carts, and small animals scurrying through the dirt, as if nothing had ever happened.
But even in that peace, something had changed.
Voices were lower than they used to be.
Conversations ended sooner when patrols passed.
And more than once, eyes lingered a little too long on the road leading toward the Chief's residence before quickly looking away.
It had been two years since then… after all.
But not everyone had forgotten.
*****
Inside the Chief's residence, there was a suffocating silence in the room.
The great hall was dimly lit by tall candles fixed into carved sconces, their flickering light casting long, wavering shadows across the polished wooden floor. Tapestries depicting the village's history swayed faintly in the warm drafts slipping through the tall windows.
At the far end of the chamber sat Chief Fugaku, ruler of Kukuruku Village, upon a massive carved wooden throne. His posture was rigid, his sharp eyes cutting through the gloom as they fixed on the lone figure kneeling before him.
Doctor George, the village's seasoned physician, lowered his gaze and bowed deeply.
"My chief," he said calmly, "you've summoned me."
Fugaku's gaze swept over him like the weight of judgment itself falling upon Doctor George.