Creation system

Sensing her distress, Mitch stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest. His embrace was warm and steady, an anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"It's okay," he whispered against her ear, his voice gentle but certain.

Their shared adventures had woven their lives together in ways neither had expected.

What had begun as a chance encounter had evolved into something deeper, a partnership built on trust, mutual respect, and the kind of bond that only forms in the crucible of shared hardship.

Taking a deep breath, Leya turned the handle and pushed open the door.

The room beyond exceeded even Mitch's expectations. Rather than the simple, functional space he had imagined, Kael's room was a carefully crafted sanctuary.

Rich tapestries depicting pastoral scenes hung on the walls, and an ornate carpet covered the wooden floor.

Shelves lined one wall, filled with books, small trinkets, and carved wooden toys.

A massive stone fireplace dominated one corner, its hearth surrounded by comfortable chairs and a small table perfect for games or meals.

The furniture was clearly expensive: a four-poster bed with silk curtains, a writing desk of polished mahogany, and a wardrobe that belonged in a nobleman's house.

An awakener certainly earns substantial coin, Mitch thought, though he couldn't help but notice the underlying sadness in such opulence purchased with desperation rather than joy.

In the center of this carefully constructed comfort lay a small figure on the grand bed.

Kael was painfully thin, his frame so slight that he seemed almost to disappear beneath the heavy blankets. His white hair, so similar to his sister's, lay limp against his pale scalp, and his skin had the translucent quality of someone whose life force was slowly ebbing away.

Yet his ears held the same subtle point as Leya's, and when Mitch extended his magical senses, he could feel the dormant mana within the boy's frail body, potential waiting to be awakened when he reached sixteen, if he lived that long.

At the sound of the door opening, Kael's eyes fluttered open. Despite his obvious illness, those green eyes, so like his sister's, blazed with intelligence and joy.

"Leya!" His voice was thin but filled with pure happiness as he struggled to sit up, then threw himself into his sister's waiting arms with what little strength he possessed.

The reunion was both heartbreaking and beautiful to witness. Leya held her brother as if he were made of the finest porcelain, her tears flowing freely as she whispered words of love and comfort.

Kael, despite his condition, radiated joy simply from being in his sister's presence.

For the next hour, they shared stories and laughter.

Mitch found himself drawn into their circle, telling carefully edited versions of their adventures, emphasizing the wonder and excitement while downplaying the mortal dangers.

Kael listened with rapt attention, his eyes growing bright with vicarious adventure.

"Mitch is a mage," Leya finally said, her voice carrying a note of hope that she was clearly trying to keep controlled. "He has healing magic, Kael. He's going to try to help you."

The boy's face lit up with a smile that could have powered the sun. "I'm ready!" he declared with all the courage his small body could muster.

Mitch felt the weight of their expectations settle on his shoulders as he approached the bed.

He placed his hands gently on Kael's chest and called upon his holy magic, channeling every ounce of mana he possessed into the healing spell.

The warm, golden light flowed from his hands into the boy's body, and for a few precious minutes, color returned to Kael's cheeks. His breathing became easier, and his eyes grew brighter.

But even as Mitch poured his power into the healing, he could sense the underlying problem.

The boy's mana was tainted, corrupted by something dark and malevolent that his holy magic could only temporarily suppress.

Like water trying to fill a vessel with a hole in the bottom, his healing was fighting a losing battle against whatever curse or disease was consuming the child from within.

As his mana depleted, Mitch watched helplessly as the color drained from Kael's face once again.

The boy's breathing became labored, and the terrible translucent pallor returned to his skin.

The healing had lasted mere minutes before the taint reasserted itself, stronger than before.

Mitch's own smile faded as the reality of the situation crashed down on him. This was beyond his current abilities.

Whatever was wrong with Kael would require magic far more powerful than anything he currently possessed.

Leya's face crumpled as she watched her brother return to his sickly state, tears streaming down her cheeks in rivers of despair. All her hopes, all her desperate efforts, seemed to crumble in that moment.

But Kael, despite his obvious suffering, managed to summon a smile for his sister. "It's okay, sister," he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with determined optimism. "I'm going to get better. I'm going to heal and become an awakener someday, just like you! You'll see."

The boy's courage in the face of such adversity was humbling. Here was a child who should have been bitter and afraid, yet he chose hope and determination instead.

Unable to bear the weight of their disappointment and his own failure, Mitch quietly excused himself.

He promised to return the next day, though he wasn't certain what more he could offer. The walk back to the inner circle felt like a funeral march, each step heavy with the knowledge that he had failed when it mattered most.

Back within the gleaming walls of the inner circle, Mitch found himself an inn that catered to awakened individuals.

The establishment was a testament to wealth and power, marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and servants who moved with practiced efficiency. He specifically requested a room with a meditation chamber, hoping that perhaps focused practice might help him understand how to better combat the taint he had sensed in Kael.

The cost was half a gold coin for a single night, a sum that seemed reasonable for the luxury provided. His room was indeed fit for nobility, with silk hangings, a fireplace faced with imported stone, and a bed that looked like it belonged in a palace.

He placed his worn backpack beside the opulent bed, a stark reminder of how far he had come, and collapsed onto the mattress with a sigh of exhaustion.

"Finally," he murmured, sinking into the soft embrace of down pillows and silk sheets. "A real bed."

But his moment of peace was destined to be short-lived. As he closed his eyes and began to relax, his instincts, honed by days of danger and combat, screamed a warning. A shadow fell across his face, and he opened his eyes to see death descending toward him.

A wickedly sharp knife was plunging down toward his head, its blade aimed directly between his eyes.