Revvyn pushed the front door open. The old metal hinges scraped, a sharp, grinding noise that cut through the quiet yard. He stepped over the threshold and pushed the door shut, making sure the latch clicked into place.
The air inside the cottage was dead. The closed shutters trapped the afternoon heat, and the room smelled strongly of boiled herbs, stale sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of sickness. Dust floated in a single, distinct beam of sunlight that cut through a crack in the window wood, highlighting the scuffs on the floorboards.
The house was completely quiet, except for a wet, rattling wheeze coming from the back bedroom.
Revvyn moved toward the hallway. His heart hammered in his chest, a fast, hard rhythm. He didn't move with the quiet balance he had used in the forest. He walked heavy, his boots thudding bluntly against the wood.
He pushed the bedroom door open.
His father was on the narrow cot. He looked small. His skin was pale and dry, pulled tight over his cheekbones and jawline. His chest barely moved, just a slight, jerky rise and fall that matched the rattling sound in his throat.
Revvyn stopped at the foot of the bed. His throat felt tight. He pressed his hand to his chest pocket, feeling the solid lump of the Moonflower inside.
I don't even know why I feel so connected to him, Revvyn thought, staring at the frail man in the bed. I haven't been in this body for very long. Why did I let my bones get crushed for a man I barely know only from memories? Why did I fight a Guardian for a life that isn't really mine?
He stepped closer and dropped to his knees on the hard wood. He reached out with dirty, shaking fingers and took his father's hand. It was cold and rough.
Maybe because in my old life, I didn't have a father. I never called anyone 'Dad'. It was just a word other people used. But now I have this man. He looks at me and actually believes in me. He didn't care about my rank or what I could do. He just wanted me home. And he's dying right in front of me.
"No," Revvyn said, his voice quiet in the room. "I didn't beat death in that garden just to let it walk in here."
He reached into his tunic and pulled out the Midnight Moonflower. It gave off a steady, bright violet light, casting clear shadows on the bedroom walls. The petals were cool against his skin.
Revvyn closed his fist around the flower and squeezed. It didn't crush like a normal plant; it melted. Thick, glowing silver sap ran between his fingers, warm and tingling. He leaned forward, used his other hand to tilt his father's head back, and pressed his sap-covered hand over his father's dry lips.
"Come on, old man," he said, his voice tight. "I made it back. I survived the forest. I killed a Guardian. I did my part. Now drink."
He watched the silver liquid slide into his father's mouth. For two seconds, nothing happened. The rattling breath continued.
Then, the wooden bed frame shook.
His father's back arched off the mattress, his muscles locking tight. A loud, desperate gasp ripped from his throat as he pulled in a massive breath of air. Glowing violet lines flared under the skin of his neck and chest, spreading rapidly like roots as the mana forced its way into his system.
Revvyn heard a sharp intake of breath behind him. His mother stood in the doorway, looking exhausted, with Lily right behind her, tears already tracking down her face. They just stared, frozen in place.
The violet glow flared brighter, lighting up the entire room and forcing Revvyn to squint.
And then, the light cut out.
The room plunged back into the dim afternoon shadows. His father's body dropped back down onto the mattress. The heavy thud shook the cot. The wheezing stopped. His chest stopped moving.
The silence in the room was absolute. There was no breathing. No movement.
"No," Revvyn whispered.
His mother let out a loud, broken cry. Her legs gave out, and she slumped against the doorframe, covering her face. Lily put her hands over her mouth, sobbing as she stared at the bed.
Revvyn didn't move. He just watched the still chest. He waited for a breath, a twitch, anything. Nothing happened. The flower was gone. The man was dead.
Revvyn bowed his head until his forehead rested against the edge of the mattress. A hot tear dropped onto the gray sheets. He clenched his hands into tight fists. All his D-rank strength, the gold in his pouch, surviving the silver mud—none of it changed this. He was just too late.
He hit the mattress with his fist. Thud. He hit his father's chest.
"I didn't risk it all for this!" Revvyn yelled, his voice rough and tearing at his throat. He hit the chest again. "Wake up! You don't get to do this! Not now! Wake up now!"
He slammed both fists down, crying freely now, his vision blurred. "Wake up! I brought it back! I beat death! Wake up!"
Arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, pulling him back from the bed. It was Lily. She dropped to her knees on the floor beside him and pulled him in tight. She pressed his head against her chest and rocked him back and forth.
Revvyn didn't care about the closeness. He just felt a dull, pounding ache in his head.
The old lady at the market, he thought, his fingers scratching at the floorboards. The prophecy. She was right. I won the fight, but I lose anyway. I have all this power, and I couldn't save him. He went limp against Lily, letting out a long, ragged cry that filled the small room.
Then, he felt a slight pressure on top of his head.
A rough, calloused hand rested lightly on his hair.
Revvyn stopped breathing. He froze in place. Lily stopped rocking him. Her breath hitched. In the doorway, his mother's crying cut off abruptly.
The hand moved. The fingers, trembling and weak, slowly brushed through Revvyn's dirty hair, smoothing it down.
A dry, raspy voice broke the quiet.
"My son."
Revvyn pulled back from Lily. He wiped his eyes and looked up at the bed.
His father's eyes were open. They were clear and focused on the ceiling before turning to Revvyn. The pale gray color was leaving his cheeks, replaced by a normal, healthy tone. He looked at Revvyn's bruised face, his blood-stained tunic, and his tired eyes.
A weak smile formed on the older man's lips. He squeezed Revvyn's hand—a weak grip, but real.
"You made it back," his father whispered.
Revvyn didn't say anything. He gripped his father's hand with both of his, pressed his face into the blankets, and cried.