Elias stepped into the house quietly.

  The familiar scent of warm bread and herbs drifted through the air. The fire crackled softly in the hearth.

  His mother looked up from the kitchen.

  “You’re back,” she said gently. “Are you hungry?”

  He didn’t answer.

  He walked past her.

  The floorboards creaked faintly under his steps.

  “Elias?” she called again.

  But he had already disappeared into his room.

  The door shut firmly behind him.

  He stood there for a moment, staring at the wood grain of the door.

  Then he exhaled and sank onto his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

  Miha.

  Lucas.

  He’d known this moment might come, but it still stung worse than he expected.

  He couldn’t compete with Lucas—not in power, not in Astral Essence, not in status, and apparently, not in Miha’s heart either.

  His hands clenched into fists.

  “It’s fine,” he murmured to himself.

  The words felt empty.

  “It’s fine.”

  But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t.

  He had kept quiet for so long, hoping—against all odds—that Miha might notice him. That maybe someday things might change.

  Now that hope was crumbling like sand in the wind.

  All he was left with was the bitter truth:

  He was a nobody in comparison to Lucas.

  He closed his eyes, fighting back the wave of despair rising in his chest.

  “This is how it’s supposed to be… right?” he whispered into the silence.

  The truth was a cold comfort.

  Lucas was strong. Successful. Admired.

  Elias.

  A walking disappointment.

  And the worst part was knowing he couldn’t change it. Couldn’t get stronger. Couldn’t use Astral Essence. Couldn’t… be more.

  He sat up suddenly and grabbed a pillow, crushing it against his chest like a lifeline.

  He tightened his grip on the pillow until the seams strained.

  His mind drifted back to the beginning—when everything felt so different.

  He remembered their carefree days as children, running through the woods without a worry in the world.

  Back when Lucas didn’t care about stages or power.

  Back when Elias still had hope for the future.

  He tightened his grip on the pillow, the fabric bunching beneath his fingers.

  It had always been this way, hadn’t it?

  He had always been less.

  Always destined to be the weak one.

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  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  It opened before he could answer.

  His mother stepped inside.

  Elias quickly dropped the pillow, trying—and failing—to look nonchalant.

  She crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed, her eyes filled with quiet worry.

  “Elias,” she said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  She gave him a penetrating look.

  “Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ nonsense,” she scolded gently. “Something’s bothering you. You’ve been quieter than usual all day.”

  He hesitated.

  He didn’t want to burden her.

  But he also couldn’t lie—not to her.

  “It’s…” He swallowed. “It’s stupid. You’ll just think I’m being silly…”

  Margaret gently cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes.

  “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “There is nothing—nothing—you could tell me that would make you ‘silly’ in my eyes.”

  Her voice softened.

  “You’re my son. You can tell me anything.”

  A pause.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  Elias winced at the question.

  Not physically.

  But the emotional pain felt worse.

  “No… no one did,” he said, glancing away. “It’s just…”

  How could he explain it? The constant feeling of inadequacy. The crushing weight of inferiority.

  He took a moment to gather himself.

  “I… feel like I’m… worthless.”

  The words barely escaped his throat.

  Margaret’s expression shifted—anger, then heartbreak, then fierce determination.

  She grabbed him by the shoulders.

  “Listen to me.”

  Her voice was low but burning.

  “Whoever made you feel that way is a liar.”

  Elias opened his mouth to protest—

  “No,” she cut in. “You are not worthless.”

  Her grip tightened slightly.

  “You feed the hungry. You help the weak. You choose kindness every day.”

  She held his gaze steadily.

  “That is strength, Elias.”

  Tears pricked at his eyes.

  No one had ever said that to him before.

  He tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t form.

  His mother pulled him into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around him protectively.

  “And don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise,” she whispered fiercely. “Understand me?”

  He nodded, burying his face against her shoulder.

  They stayed like that for several minutes.

  Finally, she pulled back slightly, her gaze still steady.

  “Now,” she said firmly. “Promise me something.”

  He sniffed and wiped at his eyes.

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me,” she said, holding his gaze, “that no matter how hard things get, no matter how many moments you feel ‘less’… you will never lose your kindness.”

  He blinked.

  Kindness?

  Wasn’t that the one thing that made him weakest? The one fault that always placed him behind everyone else?

  “…I promise.”

  She searched his face for a moment.

  Then nodded.

  “Good,” she said quietly, brushing his hair back once more. “Because that’s the only part of you that matters, Elias. Everything else… it’s just noise.”

  Her expression softened.

  “But your kindness? That defines you.”

  “And in my eyes, it makes you the bravest, strongest person I know.”

  The next morning, the training grounds buzzed with chatter.

  Advancement results had been announced.

  Lucas stood surrounded by a group of students.

  “Compared to Stage Six already?” someone said in disbelief.

  A murmur spread through the crowd.

  Lucas scratched the back of his neck modestly, though pride flickered in his posture.

  “Still a long way to go,” he said lightly.

  Elias stepped onto the grounds quietly.

  A few eyes turned.

  Then someone laughed.

  “Hey, look who has finally decided to show up.”

  Another voice followed. “Careful. If he trips, he might downgrade.”

  Laughter spread.

  Elias felt the familiar tightening in his chest.

  He kept walking.

  “It’s fine,” he told himself.

  A boy stepped into his path.

  “Why do you even come here?” he sneered. “You don't have any Astral Essence or affinity. You’re just wasting space.”

  For a brief second, Elias wanted to shove him aside. To shout. To prove he wasn’t invisible.

  His fists clenched.

  Then—

  Promise me you won’t lose your kindness. His mother voice echoed in his mind.

  He exhaled slowly.

  The tension drained from his shoulders.

  “I come to learn,” he said calmly.

  The boy scoffed. “Learn what? How to be useless?”

  Elias met his gaze.

  “I’m not competing with you.”

  It wasn’t defiance.

  It wasn’t surrender.

  It was simply truth.

  The boy blinked, thrown off.

  After a moment, he stepped aside.

  The laughter returned, but thinner now.

  Elias walked past without another word.

  Later, as he packed his things near the benches, a shadow fell across him.

  “Still alive?” Lucas asked lightly.

  Elias glanced up and gave a small nod.

  Lucas leaned casually against the wall. There was no crowd now.

  “You shouldn’t let them get to you,” Lucas said. “They talk big because they can.”

  “It’s fine,” Elias replied.

  Lucas studied him for a moment.

  “And before you start thinking stupid things,” he added, scratching the back of his neck, “there’s nothing going on between me and Miha.”

  Elias’s hands paused.

  Lucas noticed.

  “I mean it. We train together. That’s it.”

  He smirked faintly.

  “You think I don’t notice the way you look at her?”

  Heat rose to Elias’s face.

  “It’s not like that.”

  Lucas chuckled softly.

  “Relax. I’m not your enemy.”

  There was no arrogance in his voice.

  “If she chooses someone, that’s her decision,” Lucas said. “But don’t act like you already lost.”

  Elias looked away.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Lucas pushed off the wall.

  “For what it’s worth,” he added casually, “you’re stronger than you think.”

  He paused.

  “And not the Astral Essence kind.”

  Then he walked away.

  Elias sat there long after he was gone.

  Because Lucas meant well.

  And somehow—

  That almost made it worse.

  Far beyond concept.

  Beyond beginning. Beyond end.

  In a chaos where even laws had never taken form—

  A single figure laughed.

  “Pathetic,” the voice laughed.

  Not the boy.

  Not the weakness.

  The promise.

  Such a fragile thing.

  Such a dangerous thing.

  The void quivered faintly—

  as if something had just noticed him.

  And for the first time since existence failed to exist—

  It waited.