The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

Chapter 14: Severing the Umbilical Bond.



The sun rose slowly, bathing the village of Brumaria in golden hues, when Elian awoke in the infirmary where he had spent the night. Soft light filtered through the already open window, dancing across the walls with the first whispers of the cold morning wind. The air was pure, and the room, silent, carried the sweet scent of incense and the faint perfume of dried flowers.

The dream from the night before still pulsed in his mind.

Those trees… the roots… the whisper of the spheres. The dark landscape had left its mark on his soul. It was a memory as disturbing as the gray limbo where he had awakened after death. But something unsettled him even more: the voice of the owl, when it had said he had already been judged.

"What did that mean?" he wondered, still staring at the ceiling.

He remembered the owl's wings, and how the two trees — one luminous, the other dark — had been etched onto them. The sensation when the black root touched him still burned vividly within. It felt like something ancient, long forgotten, had awakened. Like coming home.

Turning slightly, he felt the warmth of a presence beside him.

Emanuelle slept peacefully, immersed in deep slumber. Her breathing was soft, almost imperceptible. Her red hair hid part of her face, but even so, there was a nearly sacred sweetness in the way she curled beside him — as if simply being there, near him, was enough to keep any nightmare at bay.

The night before, Arthur had to return home. He couldn't stay away any longer without sending word to Maria — and rightly so. He insisted Emanuelle come with him. But the girl, with the stubbornness of someone who knew her own heart, refused. She cried, screamed, begged. And in the end, Arthur gave in.

She wouldn't leave until she was sure Elian was okay.

He smiled at the memory. A quiet smile, but filled with gratitude.

Emanuelle stirred and yawned, stretching.

"Good morning, Eli…" she mumbled sleepily.

"Good morning, Manu. Did you sleep well?"

"The bed here is way comfier than ours…" she replied, eyes still half-closed.

Elian let out a soft laugh. There was no denying it. It was true. For all the poverty that marked his new life, moments like that made him reconsider his roots — and what he could build from them.

Before they could say more, Elise entered through the door with a warm smile.

"Good morning, sleepyheads. Breakfast is ready. Shall we?"

The mention of food was enough. Emanuelle jumped out of bed like a lightning bolt. Elian rose more slowly, still sore, but feeling far better than the day before.

In the kitchen, the aroma was intoxicating. There were fruits, fresh bread, honey, tea… and something else.

"Elise… what is this?" Elian asked, curious, looking at the steaming cup in front of her, filled with a dark liquid.

"This?" she replied, raising the cup to her lips. "It's coffee. Made from a fruit that only grows in the mountain regions."

Elian's eyes lit up.

"Coffee...? So it exists in this world too…"

Elise arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his reaction. But she said nothing. She simply offered the cup to him.

Not wanting to be left out, Emanuelle asked for some too. Elise poured for both.

As Elian brought the hot liquid to his lips, a rush of memories surged through him. The bitter taste. The warmth sliding down his throat. It was the same he used to drink with his mother, back when he was still Rodrigo, in those rare quiet mornings in the favela. Coffee and silence. Coffee and longing.

But before he could drown in that pain again, Emanuelle made a face and exclaimed:

"It's bitter!"

Elian couldn't help but laugh.

"Add some honey," Elise suggested, pushing the small golden jar toward her.

The girl followed her advice and smiled at the new flavor. Elian watched her with tenderness. It was for her. For his family. For this new life — that he wanted to become stronger.

The table held ripe bananas, sliced papayas, avocados seasoned with salt and lime, warm bread, goat cheese, and more tea.

A feast that stood in stark contrast to what he was used to.

And then, the question arose.

"Elise… do you come from a noble family?"

She almost choked, laughing as she shook her head.

"No. I'm a commoner. But… a mage," she said with calm dignity. "And here in the Kingdom of Elveron, that's nearly the same as nobility."

Elian fell silent for a moment. It made sense. Mages were respected. Feared or admired. And in Elise's case… she lived well. Far better than any villager in Brumaria.

"So… mages can become nobles?"

The question was direct. Elise met his gaze, knowing exactly what lay beneath those words.

"If I become a noble… maybe I can give my family a better life."

She smiled but didn't answer right away.

"Yes," she said at last. "But it's a long road. And that's a conversation for another time."

"All right," Elian nodded, bringing the cup back to his lips.

As the bitterness of the coffee blended with the sweetness of the ripe fruit, he looked around — at Emanuelle smiling, at Elise watching everything in silence — and allowed himself, for a brief moment, to believe in hope.

A hope made of roots… slowly taking hold.

After breakfast, Elise invited Elian to join her in the garden behind the house.

Emanuelle, ever alert, quickly volunteered to come along — but before she could take another step, Elise turned to her.

"This conversation is just between me and your brother," she said gently but firmly.

Emanuelle frowned, crossed her arms, and puffed out her cheeks in a clear sign of protest. But when Elian bent down slightly and said:

"Just a little while, Manu. I promise we'll be together after."

She nodded, reluctantly, and sat back down with a quiet grumble.

Elian walked beside Elise, passing through the silent corridor until they reached the back of the house. As soon as he stepped into the garden, his eyes widened in genuine surprise.

It was a sanctuary. A space of meticulous beauty, where every flower seemed to bloom with purpose. Rows of roses in perfect symmetry, lavenders swaying in the wind with a light and elegant fragrance, stone paths winding between neatly trimmed hedges. Marble fountains whispered softly, and birds — calm and confident — perched on the branches as if they, too, belonged to that peace.

The ground beneath his feet was warm and solid. The breeze carried the fresh scent of damp earth, flowers, and wood. Everything there seemed in harmony. Even Elian's thoughts — always so noisy — fell quiet.

"Impressed?" Elise asked with a subtle smile, noticing his eyes wandering.

Elian nodded. There was a serenity in that place he had never felt before.

"Elian…" Elise began, stopping beside a round stone fountain. "I wanted to commend you for what you did yesterday."

Elian looked at her, puzzled.

"Commend me…?" he murmured. It wasn't what he expected to hear. Deep down, he had braced himself to be judged. Condemned. Guilty. "You're praising me?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "I won't judge you for protecting someone you love. On the contrary. What you did was admirable. You saved your sister from a terrible fate. And that… is something not even many adults would have the courage to do."

Elian lowered his gaze.

The memories of the alley returned like shadows. The blood. The stench of burned flesh. The pain in his fists. The flame on his finger. The stone spear piercing a still-beating heart.

He didn't know if it was justice… or pleasure.

And that thought devoured him.

In his past life, he masked the pleasure of killing with justifications like "revenge" and "justice." But deep down, it fed something dark inside him. And what if… it was happening again?

"By the way, I told your father," Elise said, her voice dry and direct.

Those words struck Elian like lightning on a clear day. For a moment, his body froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came. When he finally managed to speak, his voice barely escaped:

"You… shouldn't have…" he whispered, panicked.

"Yes, I should," Elise replied, firm but not harsh. "Your parents have the right to know what happened."

"But what if they hate me?" Elian whispered, eyes wide. "What if… they see me as a monster? As someone who… kills?"

His voice cracked. His eyes, now brimming with tears, avoided hers.

"My father is a good man, my mother… is the kindest woman I know. What if… they turn away from me?"

The fear was so real it hurt physically. It hurt more than any wound from the fight. More than the bruises, the broken bones. Because this wasn't pain of the body — it was of the soul.

"I fought so hard…" Elian murmured, barely realizing he had spoken aloud. "Fought so hard to have this… to have a family again…"

Elise heard him. Perhaps she didn't fully grasp what those words truly meant, but she felt it — something deeper. A secret trapped between layers of pain.

She approached slowly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Elian didn't pull away. He stood still, trembling.

"Elian… look at me," Elise said softly.

He lifted his eyes. And in hers, there was no judgment. No fear. Only understanding.

"How could your parents hate the son who saved their daughter? How could Anthony despise you, knowing you threw yourself into danger to protect Manu? And… how could Emanuelle, who saw everything… who was saved by you… look at you with anything but love?"

Elian lowered his head. The tears now fell freely — heavy, silent.

"You're not a monster, Elian," Elise continued, her voice firm but gentle. "You did what had to be done. And you need to understand that. You need to accept that… saving someone isn't always beautiful. Sometimes, it's messy. Sometimes, it leaves scars. But that doesn't make it wrong."

Elian remained silent, staring at the clean stone floor of the garden as if the answer were hidden there.

Yes… saving his sister had been right. But the taste in his mouth — metallic, heavy — was the same as when he used to kill.

No matter who called it "just," he knew the truth:

He would only protect those he loved.

And only those he loved.

The world no longer deserved his compassion. Not anymore. The betrayal, the pain, the false smiles of his former life still lived within him like wounds that never healed. And even now, despite everything Elise had done… he didn't fully trust her.

She was kind, yes. But there was a gleam in her eyes that Elian couldn't decipher.

And he knew — had always known — that no one acts without reason.

A heavy silence settled.

Then, Elise softened her tone. Her eyes rested on him with a rehearsed calm.

"You don't have to carry this alone," she said. "I'm here. Now… come. Let's sit down. There's something else I want to tell you."


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