Maria

  "We have to help her!"

  Michael had just regained consciousness from the shock of distant illumination and was trying to wrest himself from his mother’s arms.

  "You’ve just come to. You fainted. Calm down!"

  She held Michael tightly against her, crushed by guilt as he muttered things like "I’m not myself anymore" and "Antibodies! Antibodies!" before passing out again. It had been her actions, after all, that led him to the brink of that abyss. She was the cause of all the pain he'd endured. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she repeated in her mind, unable to voice the words except as a faint whisper.

  As Michael wept in her arms, she wondered how she could have been so blind, how she’d failed to see the danger that girl might pose—especially to someone as unprepared as Michael.

  Sure, he was growing into a competent Guardian, but every step toward strength meant a step away from her. Was it selfish to want to keep him safe, to shield him from the weight of the Light—for just a little longer?

  She’d placed too much trust in Erica’s words. “I don’t sense malice in Malee,” Erica had claimed. Maybe so, but malice wasn’t a prerequisite for causing harm. And that was something Erica, still a girl herself, couldn’t yet understand.

  The resolute gaze of Edgar pulled Maria back to the present. He didn’t look guilty or afraid. Of course, Edgar didn’t possess the gift—or curse—of the Light, so he couldn’t truly grasp what Michael had experienced. But even he couldn’t have been unmoved by that explosion of anguish. He was just strong. Stronger than Maria.

  The practicality of her Grand Master self kicked in. What was done, was done. Michael had suffered, yes, but it wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Pain was part of learning, part of growing—just like falling when you’re first learning to walk. She had been weak, letting emotions cloud her judgment. But Michael? His pain had already passed. And now only action mattered.

  "We have to help her!" Those had been his first words when he came to. Brave words—though reckless.

  Maria felt a pang of admiration—and fear—as she watched Michael wrestle with his emotions. She had guided countless students through their growth into the Light, teaching them to find balance, to shape their power with care. But this was different. This was her son. Every ounce of strength he gained meant he would soon slip further from her grasp. And this time, the stakes weren’t just personal—they they could fracture the world itself, as all wars between Queen eventually had. Even Erica, for all her talent, didn’t feel entirely ready for what was coming. How could she prepare Michael for battles that might destroy them both? For the first time, Maria questioned whether her wisdom would be enough, as a teacher and a mother.

  No. This is not the time for sentimentalisms. The Grand Master needs to come first.

  She dismissed her pity for Michael, the tears she’d sympathized with moments ago now appearing as childish whining. She braced to tell him to toughen up, to act like a man—but she didn’t get the chance.

  Michael broke free from her embrace and stepped back. He stood tall—well, not tall exactly, nor imposing. His delicate features and slender, pianist-like fingers belied strength. But Maria, who knew him well, recognized the resolve in his hardened gaze and the slight quiver in his lips—the look of someone who had made a decision.

  He wasn’t thinking about himself or how tear-streaked his face might appear. All his focus was on the next step. The moment of action.

  Good, Michael, Maria thought. He was learning. He’d make an exceptional Guardian someday. But his training was far from over.

  She locked eyes with him. "Spit it out," she said. "What’s on your mind?"

  "We can’t just do nothing."

  "There’s nothing you can do."

  "‘Can do’? You don’t get it. It’s not about ‘can’; it’s about ‘must.’"

  Maria stiffened. Erica’s earlier words echoed in her mind: "Michael is still too full of himself. He wants to act on his own."

  He was too much like her—impulsive. While Maria could afford that, he wasn’t ready. If he tried to reconnect with Malee on his own, God only knew what might happen to him. She had to steer him away from this, at least for now. His focus had to remain on his education and his training.

  "Michael, you’re not her. I know you feel connected to her, but it’s just the remnants of navigation. It feels like her pain is yours, but that’s not real."

  "Real or not, there has to be something we can do" Michael argued. He couldn’t see it yet—the danger of acting on impulse, the cost of rushing in unprepared. Michael was driven by the raw emotion of what he’d seen, but that same intensity could blind him to reason.

  Maria watched as he shot to his feet, his movements abrupt and sharp. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room in restless, jagged steps. His shoulders were hunched, his head down—not the stance of a warrior, but of someone bracing for an argument they already believed was lost. She smothered the instinct to smile. For all his determination, Michael always seemed to channel his emotions with the grace of a startled deer.

  “We can’t just sit here! She’s suffering—right now! Are you seriously telling me I should just ignore that?”,

  I have to find a way to steady him. "That much is certain," Maria replied coolly, her mind already turning over possible plans. But Michael was not giving up.

  "We have to go to Bangkok, find her."

  "Don’t be ridiculous," Edgar interrupted, breaking his long silence. "Bangkok is a massive city, bigger than New York, and we have no clue where she is. For all we know, we’d be up against an entire army—guns, maybe even bazookas."

  Maria watched as Michael’s fists clenched and his pacing grew sharper. His anger wasn’t just defiance—it was desperation. He wasn’t thinking about what made sense; he was focused only on what he thought was right.

  "Your father’s right," Maria added, choosing a tone that was firm and commanding—Grand Master, not mother. "And remember, you’re not the only one in the world with the Light."

  "So what? Do we just sit here, hoping someone else will act for us? They’re hurting her!"

  "I didn’t say that," Maria snapped, deliberately maintaining her leader’s edge. "There are others I need to involve. You’re not among them."

  "And who are these others?"

  "Friends. That’s not your concern."

  Edgar rose and positioned himself directly in front of Michael. Maria bristled. As strong as Edgar was, his tendency to coddle Michael frustrated her. What Michael needed now wasn’t comfort—he needed to accept that his role in this was over.

  Discipline.

  But Edgar sat down beside their son, leveling their heights, allowing Michael to look down on him—a mistake.

  "Don’t think your mom and I are unfeeling," Edgar said softly, avoiding direct eye contact. His tone was too gentle, too yielding—better suited to the old Michael, the aimless boy Maria knew no longer existed.

  "We’re as worried about Malee as you are."

  Just as she expected, Michael lashed out. "No, you weren’t there! You have no idea what Malee and I went through!"

  "No, but we can imagine."

  Michael’s gaze flitted between his parents, seeking an ally. He must have sensed a glimmer of solidarity with Maria, because he quickly turned on Edgar.

  "‘Imagine’? I’d never have imagined feeling what I did. It’s not the same, imagining something and living it!"

  "True," Edgar countered, "but through you, we can try. We don’t know her, but we know you. And we’ve seen your pain. We’ve felt it. That’s empathy."

  Michael’s face flushed red with anger. He turned sharply, slamming his palm onto the side of the table. The sound echoed in the silence that followed, drawing every gaze back to him. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to steady himself. “Empathy won’t save her,” he said finally, his voice low but charged with emotion.

  Edgar is not using the right approach. He was trying to reach Michael, but it was the wrong tone for the moment—too soft, too forgiving. Michael didn’t need comfort now; he needed clarity and discipline.

  Instead, Maria chose silence, deliberately standing tall to project authority. That’s what he needed now: certainty, discipline, and direction.

  She saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes—a moment of hesitation before anger overtook him again. For all his resolve, he was scared. And Maria couldn’t blame him. He was still just a boy.

  “Empathy? What use is empathy and all your fancy words? I need to help her! If someone falls from a fourth-floor window, can empathy save them?”

  Maria inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to interject. Edgar’s patience was commendable, but ineffective. Michael’s fury burned brightly, his arguments raw and personal. It wasn’t words that would reach him now, but action.

  But Edgar, clearly, had something else in his mind, His gaze followed Michael’s frantic pacing, his brows drawing together in quiet understanding. He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but deliberate. “You think we don’t care? If we act rashly, we risk putting her—and you—in even greater danger. That’s not carelessness, Michael. That’s strategy.”

  Silence fell in the room for a moment.

  Her eyes met Michael’s briefly, and there it was—a quiet but undeniable understanding. He didn’t need to say anything; his expression, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief, was enough. They both knew Edgar’s newfound strategic streak didn’t quite fit.

  Maria raised an eyebrow, suppressing a wry smile. Edgar, the thinker, the philosopher, the eternal diplomat—strategy wasn’t supposed to be his forte. That was her domain. Yet here he was, talking tactics like he’d suddenly decided to borrow her job description.

  Maria couldn’t decide if Edgar’s effort was admirable or laughable. Maybe it was both. She appreciated his willingness to step in, even if his delivery lacked finesse. But she couldn’t ignore the irony—Mr. Empathy was trying to play strategist, and Michael, predictably, wasn’t buying it.

  While the conversation unfolded, Maria’s mind ventured elsewhere, navigating through the Light. She sought all her fellow teachers at the school of Light, her friends and allies. Of course, a phone call would have worked too, but this was urgent, and she needed more than words: she needed to know that her friends truly felt and, most of all, she needed their powers.

  Maria closed her eyes, steadying her breathing as she allowed herself to sink into the flow of the Light. It embraced her immediately, not as something foreign but as a natural extension of her being.

  Her mythical rune, Sowilo (?), shimmered faintly on her forearm, a badge of her mastery as a Navigator. The threads of the Light wove tightly around her, answering her call with vibrant energy. Yet another rune, Eiwaz (?), glowed faintly on her other palm—a reminder of her Guardian resilience, always present, always steadfast.

  Margaret’s presence brushed against hers in the Light first, her energy precise and commanding. As a Poet, her mythical rune, Ehwaz (?), burned like a steady flame. She infused her specialty, Flame of Rebellion, into the currents, a spark of defiance that reverberated throughout the connection. Maria absorbed its potency, using it to reinforce their unity.

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  Estro followed shortly after, his calm, razor-sharp focus slicing through the turbulence of the Light. He didn’t require a rune—his status as a Master of Focus was evident in the stability he provided, creating a foundation for the team’s navigation.

  Then came Magellano, his presence heralded by the brilliance of his own Sowilo rune. As a Navigator, his skill, Emotive Echo, pulsed through the threads, his precise and calm messages aligning the team’s intent. His mastery allowed emotions to translate into clear, unambiguous signals, bolstering the group’s coordination and focus.

  Maria extended her will, merging their strengths into a singular force. The Light swirled and surged, forming a radiant, protective dome around them. The threads were delicate yet powerful, like a spider’s web glimmering in the morning sun. They approached Malee’s fragile connection—a dim, flickering presence that seemed to be calling them—suspended against a vast, oppressive darkness. Erica’s Light sparkled at a distance, vigilant but untested. Maria knew she would act if needed, though doubts lingered about whether the young Queen was truly prepared for what lay ahead.

  She focused on Malee, trying to contact her but, as the feeble flame of a candle in the wind, something unseen was draining her energy, and fast. As a sudden shockwave of hostile energy surged through the currents, Maria acted instinctively. Her Guardian instincts flared to life. The Eiwaz rune on her palm ignited with blinding intensity as she summoned Echo Shield. The shield materialized in the Light—a shimmering barrier that surrounded their collective presence.

  The hostile wave struck, its energy redirected back toward its source in a crackling cascade of power. Away from Malee. As if that power came not from her, but from somewhere else.

  So what Erica said was true. Malee was resisting a greater power.

  “What’s beyond a Queen?” Maria mused, her mind racing. The Light obeyed no one, not truly—not even Kings or Queens.

  What could have turned the Light into something so warped, so malignant? Still, I have to try.

  Her focus remained steady as she adjusted the shield, balancing defense with precision. She channeled Margaret’s Heartstrings Lullaby into the structure of the shield, weaving calming vibrations that steadied the delicate thread of Malee’s presence. Estro kept their network taut and firm, while Magellano’s clarifying pulses cut through the remaining noise.

  Maria reached out carefully. She sensed the Queen’s struggle—her aura flickering like a dying flame—and projected reassurance.

  “Hold on,” the message flowed through the Light, imbued with unity and strength. “We’re coming.”

  But it did not work. Something was at work here that she could not comprehend. Malee did not respond, her evil aura, thought not her own, did not subside. If anything, it became greater.

  Flame of Rebellion: didn't work.

  Emotive Echo: useless.

  Echo Shield: a total failure.

  And these were skills triggered at a mythical level, amplified by the Master of Focus power of Estro. Still, this was clearly above their payrole.

  Maria withdrew, her mastery as a Navigator bringing the team’s effort to a smooth conclusion. At least, they all had seen it, and they all agreed: this wasn’t a battle they could win from a distance. The time for observation had passed.

  She opened her eyes as the runes on her arms faded, the Light retreating from her grasp. The room came back into focus, grounding her in the present. A faint tension hung in the air, and she became aware of the stillness around her. Michael’s voice broke it.

  “Mama,” he said cautiously, his tone tentative, “you… were navigating, weren’t you?”

  Maria turned to him, tilting her head slightly. His words didn’t surprise her—his questions rarely did these days. For a moment, she let the silence stretch, the weight of what she had seen lingering heavy in her mind. Finally, she allowed herself a small, wry smile. “Yes,” she replied simply. “I was.”

  “What did you… what did you see?” Michael’s voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, as though bracing himself for an answer he wouldn’t like.

  Maria straightened, her tone measured and firm. “Enough,” she said, her expression unreadable. “Enough to know what needs to be done.”

  Maria didn’t answer directly; her tone softened—a hint of maternal warmth layering her usual authority.

  “Michael, what you experienced this morning, what you endured—it was overwhelming. Too much for a first time.”

  He bristled, his voice tinged with frustration. “But we gained nothing,” he muttered, exhaustion creeping in after the tension of the last few minutes.

  Maria knelt to bring herself to Michael's level, staring him in the eyes. Her tone was sharp yet steady, a blend of maternal warmth and unyielding authority.

  "We know you want to do more, Michael. But right now, you need to focus on resting. You have to learn how to detach. You can’t let emotions overwhelm you. It's part of your training."

  "Training?" Michael snapped, his voice trembling with frustration. "If all we care about is training instead of solving problems, then the Light is useless."

  "The Light, life, action—these are just empty concepts. Words. What matters is the result—nothing else," Maria replied, her words carrying the edge of a teacher who had witnessed too much impatience. "And to get results, you need to continue your education. You need to learn to shape the Light like an artisan shaping glass or clay, like your father molds words into his books, or like your body processes food. Talent alone isn’t enough. Connection to the world, Michael. That’s what’s missing. And you… you’re not ready yet."

  Michael fell silent for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor. Then he sighed, his shoulders heavy with apparent resignation. But Maria knew his son all too well: he would not give up.

  ”Being the world," he murmured, his voice softer now. "I remember, Dad. You used to say that all the time. Not to act in the world, but to be the world. I think I understand it a little better now. But…" He hesitated, his voice tightening. "We don’t have time for this. I can’t sit here meditating while some girl is being tortured."

  Maria observed him closely, her heart aching with a mix of pride and worry. He believed he understood, but the truth was further away than he realized. His connection with Malee, or whatever it was that commanded her, had been too intense for someone of his limited training—it had overwhelmed him. Now, he assumed that everyone could navigate minds the way Malee had touched his, as if it were simple. But Malee was a Queen. Michael, for all his potential, was still just a boy.

  To be the world, Maria thought, meant to live within its limits and not let them compromise the clarity of one’s actions. She couldn’t expect a child to jump two meters just because someone else could. The world didn’t bend to will; it bent only to itself. The line between humility and arrogance was fragile—often crossed by those convinced they remained humble.

  And yet, as she reflected further, the situation was even more troubling than she had allowed herself to admit. Michael had been illuminated at a distance. What exactly had Malee done to him? Was it just a shared experience of their lives, or was there something deeper? Maria needed to speak with Erica—immediately, if possible. Or perhaps not. Perhaps Erica, as gifted as she was, was too young to bear this burden.

  There was only one person Maria was certain she needed to confront, and as soon as possible. Someone she had no rapport with, not even cordial terms. Someone with a position as high as hers—another Grand Master. The Grand Master of Asia. Malee had been his responsibility, meant to be under his protection. The chaos that had followed? His failure.

  In the meantime, there was Michael. The fear and anguish Malee had shared with him still clung to his thoughts, ticking like a time bomb. Perhaps the connection hadn’t entirely broken yet.

  The power of Queens terrified Maria. For all she knew, Malee could become an acid, corroding Michael’s certainties, rewriting his thoughts into something unrecognizable, liquid, and powerless. Whatever the case, Michael was already changed—for better or worse, Maria couldn’t yet say. But he was her son, her responsibility, and she had to help him. As his mother, first and foremost—not as Grand Master of Europe. If only she knew how.

  "Michael, look at me," she said firmly. "Let me repeat myself because this is today’s most important lesson. You navigated with Malee. You were her. But you must learn to detach. It’s part of your training. If you don’t, you’ll lose yourself."

  "But how am I supposed to do that?" Michael’s voice broke with vulnerability, his confusion laid bare.

  "For now, all I can tell you is this: You are here, thousands of miles away from her. Not there. You don’t yet have the techniques to detach easily, but your will to help her is enough. Think about it. Staying mired in her fears won’t solve anything. If you truly want to help her, you need to be fully yourself again."

  Michael sighed, his frustration softening into a reluctant calm. "Fine… but can we really do nothing?" His words carried less defiance, more exhaustion.

  "Of course we can." Maria placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You need to continue your training. Meanwhile, your father and I will start asking questions. There are things we still need to understand."

  "Have you had the same idea I’ve had?" Edgar asked, stepping into the conversation from where he’d been pacing behind them. His voice carried an energy that suggested his thoughts were already racing ahead.

  "I believe so," Maria replied.

  "Have you contacted them?"

  "Five minutes ago."

  "And… her?"

  "I’ll speak to her soon. But I need to think this through first. I’m not sure how much she knows about that girl’s ability with the Light. Malee isn’t just another Queen. That much is clear. She navigates and illuminates at a level no one else can—and at a distance!"

  "Queen?" Michael’s incredulous voice broke through. "Are we in Snow White now? What are you talking about?"

  Maria turned to him, her expression softening slightly. "I’ll explain everything, Michael."

  "And who exactly are these people you’re talking about?"

  Maria stayed silent this time, unwilling to elaborate further.

  "Was it just simple navigation?" Edgar asked.

  "No, absolutely not. It was true illumination."

  "I see… And her? Will she agree?"

  "I have no doubt," Maria responded, her tone clipped but resolute.

  "Aaaah! Her who?" Michael’s voice rang out, furious, his frustration palpable. It was clear he felt excluded, as though everyone else were speaking in riddles. Maria acknowledged his anger silently, deciding to address it—but only after making things clear with Edgar.

  "Edgar, as always, you’ll handle the bookworm?" Maria said briskly.

  Edgar chuckled. "All right, leave it to me," he replied, resettling himself into his seat, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting in his hands. "I was supposed to talk to him tomorrow anyway."

  "I don’t understand!" Michael shouted, his anger reaching a boiling point. "What are you talking about?"

  Maria turned to her son at last.

  "There are some things we can’t explain to you yet," she said firmly.

  "But how can we help her if you won’t tell me everything?" Michael shot back.

  Edgar’s tone softened, though his words carried weight. “We’re not keeping you in the dark to hurt you, Michael. We’re trying to give you time—time to grow stronger, to be ready. That’s how you help her. Not by rushing headfirst into something you’re not ready for.”

  “Sure,” he muttered, the bitterness in his voice poorly disguised. “That’s exactly what I need—more waiting, more training. Meanwhile, she suffers.”

  Maria narrowed her eyes, studying the restless movements of her son. The quick, jerky steps. The way his fingers twitched as though itching to grab something—anything. He was thinking of defying her. She knew that look too well. A plan was already forming in his mind, even if he didn’t realize it yet.

  "We will help her, I promise you," Maria replied, her voice steady and authoritative. "We’ve already made progress this morning. And don’t worry, Michael. Your father and I aren’t as useless as we might seem to you right now. Well, I’m certainly not."

  Edgar turned towards her, incredulous. "Now that’s something!"

  They laughed together, while Michael looked utterly disgusted by their interaction.

  Maria allowed herself a moment of silence. She reflected on how foolish Erica had been not to warn her that this could happen. Still, she admitted Erica had been right about one thing—there was no time to waste in continuing Michael’s training, especially teaching him how to resist illumination.

  Soon, Michael and Jonata would begin their journey at the School of Illumination—a world of new challenges, exceptional mentors, and exponential growth awaited them. Also learning the tips and tricks of Steal the light will help, and the three students that are coming here tomorrow will serve this purpose. The timing couldn’t have been better. She knew the girl—Anastasia, was it?—was level-headed, but she’d heard mixed opinions about the other two. The only certainty was that they were talented and well-prepared.

  She wanted Michael to gain experience, to learn military strategy through Steal the Light, long considered the best way to understand the world of the Light. And who better to train him than the reigning champions? It was the perfect solution.

  Her son had to leave soon, to move to the place where she herself had been shaped, and continue his education at the School of Illumination. There was no time for maternal sentimentality—no "I’ll miss you" or "Make sure to bundle up if it’s cold." Michael had to grow, whether he liked it or not.

  And then there was Jonata. Maria felt a responsibility toward him as well, and she’d grown fond of the boy. Despite their differences, Michael and Jonata seemed to get along and complement each other. They’d support one another. And, of course, she owed it to Ingrid.

  "So, tell me," Maria continued, "what were you and Jonata planning to do tonight?"

  "We were going to meet up to practice distant contact."

  "We usually call it Navigation, if you don’t mind."

  "Fine, navigation then."

  "Apparently, you’ve already made some progress. And with great results."

  "Not enough."

  Michael sounded sincere. Yet Maria had never known anyone who, in their first navigation lesson, had achieved what he had. Sure, Malee had helped him, but that didn’t entirely diminish his accomplishment. Not entirely, at least.

  Edgar must have thought the conversation was over because he stood and made to leave. But just before exiting the room, he turned back to Maria.

  "What’s for dinner?"

  "I was thinking ravioli this afternoon. What do you think?"

  "Fantastic! See you later!" Then, turning to Michael with a tone that was half-serious, half-playful—typical of Edgar’s enigmatic nature—he added, "Michael, I’m proud of you!"

  After Edgar left, Maria noticed with amusement that Michael was speechless. The abrupt shift from cryptic conversations to homemade ravioli must have seemed absurd to him.

  But she and Edgar were used to this—dealing with weighty matters one moment, often in secret, and then returning to everyday life as soon as Michael walked through the door after school, or a customer entered her pharmacy, where she worked. It was second nature to them.

  Wicked or not, Maria couldn’t help but find Michael’s expression utterly hilarious.

  "Come on, don’t waste time," she said. "Call Jonata and invite him over for dinner. He likes ravioli, doesn’t he?"

  "How should I know?" Michael’s eyes widened, his arms flung out in exasperation.

  Maria barely suppressed a laugh.

  "Oh, come on. Who doesn’t like ravioli? Now, I suggest you head upstairs and study for your geography test. It’s tomorrow, right?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "I thought so." And now, for the final touch, she thought. "When you’re done, come downstairs and help me roll out the dough, fill the ravioli, and seal them. Deal?"

  "Ravioli? No, please."

  Maria wanted to laugh again but held back. She glanced at Edgar, who had reappeared in the doorway moments earlier, also on the verge of laughter. She forced herself to stay composed.

  "Don’t be ridiculous. Just help me. Now, I need to go buy the ground meat."

  She stood and joined Edgar on the stairs. They had just rounded the corner when Maria remembered something. She descended a few steps, holding Edgar’s hand discreetly, and called back to Michael.

  "Michael, I’m proud of you too!"

  He looked between her and Edgar, then waved a hand dismissively, as if to shoo them away, before turning to grab his phone. She watched as he began dialing Jonata’s number, then turned and climbed the stairs.

  Michael’s vague, confused expression lingered in her mind. She knew it would stay with her, vivid and unforgettable. Her boy was growing up. And, more importantly, everything had gone according to plan—she’d managed to convince him, at least for now.

  How I’ve missed this—energy surging, urgency sharpening my senses, fire in my veins.

  She felt energized. That intoxicating, exhilarating feeling she’d first discovered years ago during Steal the Light matches: the unparalleled thrill of adrenaline-fueled action.