The walk home was quiet. Morning light stretched across East Hollow’s cobbled streets. Elias’s small hand stayed firmly in his father’s, anchored as though it could remind him: no matter what the high priest had said, he was not alone.
The village stirred around them. A few children laughed and raced ahead. Some villagers whispered amongst themselves, still discussing the Rite of Awakening that had ended hours ago.
Then, from the edge of the crowd, a voice drifted out:
“Figures… some kids just don’t have it.”
Another villager snorted.
“Don’t mind him. Some are born special… some… normal.”
Elias looked up at Edward.
“Dad… what’s that?”
Edward shook his head gently.
“Nothing you need to worry about. Some words are just noise.”
“But… they sound mean,” Elias muttered.
“Humans always judge what they don’t understand,” Edward said softly.
The words lingered quietly in his chest as they reached their cottage. The wooden gate, wrapped in ivy and dotted with tiny blue forget-me-nots, welcomed them home. Edward knelt beside him.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
Elias lifted his eyes. They were bright, unbroken—a light no failed Awakening could dim.
“I used to think power meant flashy magic,” Edward said softly, smiling faintly.
“Your mother… she can barely cast a spark, but she once pulled a drowning child from raging waters with her bare hands.”
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He brushed a lock of hair back.
“The strongest thing I’ve ever seen isn’t Astral Essence… it’s heart.”
Edward opened the gate wide, welcoming not just them, but the promise of tomorrow.
Inside, warmth embraced them. Tea brewed gently on the stone hearth. Birds chirped outside. Margaret hummed at her loom. The cottage smelled of herbs and wood smoke, comforting and safe.
Later, a soft knock echoed at the door.
Margaret opened it. Standing there was Miha Seraphine, calm and confident despite her simple tunic and braided hair tied with a blue ribbon.
“Hi,” she said softly. “I… brought Elias some honey cakes from my mother’s kitchen.”
“Come in! He’ll be happy to see you,” Margaret said warmly.
Elias snapped his storybook shut and looked at her with wide eyes.
“For me?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she said, sitting at the edge of the bed and holding out a small cloth bundle.
“Mother made extra. I told her what happened at the church.”
He hesitated, then carefully unwrapped it. Two golden-brown honey cakes, glazed with wildberry jam, filled the bundle.
“I don’t care what that stupid high priest said,” Miha continued, perching beside him.
“It didn’t react when I first touched it either… not until my grandmother guided me.”
“You… needed help too?”
“Yes. Everyone does at first.”
Her eyes met his fully.
“You’re not broken, Elias.”
He held the cakes but did not eat.
“I just… I wanted it to do something,” he whispered. “Everyone else got light, fire, wind… even Elara got earth. But me? Nothing.”
Later that night, Edward and Margaret watched Elias sleep. Moonlight spilled across his small frame, silvering the room.
Edward knelt beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.
“He’s got your heart,” he murmured to Margaret.
“And stubbornness too,” she replied softly.
After some time Margaret left, leaving father and son alone.
Edward didn't want to believe that his son doesn't have any Astral Essence.
Edward pressed his hand against Elias’s forehead, trying to sense latent Astral Essence. Nothing. Silence.
The moon outside the window flickered strangely.
For a single moment its silver glow deepened… turning crimson.Like blood over silver. He froze.
His hands started trembling.
But then he looked at Elias’s sleeping face. Innocent. Fragile. Safe.
Fear melted. The vision vanished.
“Just a hallucination,” Edward whispered.
“My son is good. My son is loved. That’s enough.”
Edward brushed one last time across Elias’s hair and settled into the chair beside him. Moonlight gleamed quietly outside, carrying nothing but peace—for now.
