From Anthony's hands appeared a crown of flowers — but not ordinary flowers. These petals bloomed only in places where mana condensed, able to survive for years without withering. They resembled lilies, but carried a secret: they changed color according to the magical affinity of the one who wore them.
Emanuelle placed it on her head. Instantly, the white petals shifted into hues that pulsed like small flames: deep blue, serene green, and a faint red glow. The reflection of those colors danced across her face, illuminating her wide, genuine smile.
"Thank you, Anthony!" she exclaimed, her eyes brimming with emotion.
At the end of the table, my mother lifted a hand to her lips. Her smile unfolded softly, while discreet tears threatened to fall. It was pride — pride in seeing her children united, growing, building memories that would endure forever.
Finally, it was Iolanda who approached. Her presence, even in simple attire, always carried authority.
"Congratulations, Elian and Emanuelle," she said, her voice firm yet holding an unusual warmth — one she herself didn't seem to notice.
The voices and laughter around us quieted as Iolanda drew near. The gentle lamplight caught the crimson of her dress, and for a moment the room seemed to fall silent before her. In her hands, two small boxes gleamed under the candles.
"This one is for you, Emanuelle. You may open it now," she said, handing over the box in her right hand.
Emanuelle accepted it, her fingers trembling with anticipation. When she opened it, a silver bracelet with the initial of her name shone as if forged from liquid moonlight. Her eyes lit with pure joy.
"Put it on me, Eli!" she asked, nearly bouncing.
I carefully clasped the bracelet around her delicate wrist. As I did, a flash crossed my mind: the golden ribbon she had given me when I left for Elise's house. It reminded me that, somehow, she always found a way to tie me back to home.
"It looks beautiful on you, Manu," I said with a light smile.
"Thank you, Iolanda!" she answered, running to hug the mage.
Iolanda returned the embrace with restraint, but there was pride in her amber eyes. "You're welcome," she murmured, before turning to me. "This one is yours, Elian." She extended the other box. "These two gifts are from all the mages of the Dark Throne."
I took the small box and opened it carefully. Inside were a pair of earrings shaped like pentagrams, forged in black metal with nearly invisible lines pulsing with energy. My heart raced. I had never worn earrings in any of my lives. For a moment, I thought it was a mistake.
Iolanda must have noticed my hesitation, because she explained firmly:
"These earrings are made from conductive material. They're not perfect — only about thirty percent conduction — but they'll already make your spellcasting easier."
I was speechless. It wasn't just a gift. It was a mark, a bond with the order. Their weight seemed heavier than the metal that shaped them.
"Thank you, Iolanda," I finally managed to say, bowing.
Then my mother came to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. Their warmth pulled me back to the present.
"Do you want me to pierce them for you?" she asked tenderly.
"Yes, please, Mother," I replied without hesitation.
She took the earrings and, with steady hands, pierced my ears. The pain was sharp, quick, but bearable. It hurt, yes — but not nearly as much as being stabbed. That, I knew well.
When she placed the pentagrams in place, a shiver ran through me. I felt them pulse, as if already recognizing my mana.
"They look good on you, Elian," my mother said, her eyes glimmering with pride and emotion.
"Really, Eli," Emanuelle added with a bright smile. "You look handsome with those earrings."
My face grew warm. "Thank you, Mother. Thank you, Manu," I answered, a little shy.
The celebration went on after the gifts. My mother had prepared a small feast: roasted meats exuding that rich, savory scent, fresh fruit the order had provided, and the gentle heat of the stove filling the kitchen. The house buzzed with voices and laughter, but little by little the movement faded. Guests took their leave, until only we remained — my family — with the two mages on guard, always silent and watchful in the corners.
I had to step outside. The air inside the house felt too heavy, filled with memories mingling with the present. I crossed the door and let the night embrace me. The cold wind slid across my skin, raising goosebumps as though pricked by icy needles. My ears still throbbed, hot, from the freshly placed earrings.
I walked to my father's grave. The damp earth gave off the smell of wet soil, mixed with the freshness of grass. Standing before the headstone, I felt my body sink with weight.
"Father… we miss you," I whispered, my voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
The words engraved in stone cut through me: Here lies a man of the earth, who returned to the earth. I stared at them for what felt like endless minutes. They made too much sense. So much that I wished, deep down, that one day I too could rest here — beside him, beside our family.
When I finally turned to leave, I realized I wasn't alone. My mother stood a few meters away, silent, watching me.
"Oh, Mother… I was just heading back," I said, forcing a smile.
"It's alright, son," she answered, approaching with light steps. "Do you still blame yourself for his death?"
I lowered my gaze. The cold wind swept by again, stirring dust and forcing me to blink.
"Not anymore," I replied. "If I did, I'd be spitting on the sacrifice he made for us."
She drew a deep breath, her tear-filled eyes reflecting the pale moonlight.
"He loved you very much, you know?"
"I know, Mother."
Memories stormed through me. I saw in flashes every smile, every piece of advice, every gesture of his during the five years I was his son. I even recalled the ethereal plane where we said our farewell. Arthur had accepted me as I was, without judging who I had been in my past life. He had been a father — as much as my other father had been too.
Then my mother pulled something from within her dress.
"Here," she said, handing me a small box. "This belonged to your father and me."
Inside was a simple ring, but the energy pulsing from it made my eyes widen.
"When we discovered your talent for magic, the two of us began saving money to buy this ring."
I slipped it onto my finger and immediately felt a faint throb, like a dormant heart beginning to beat in rhythm with mine. I looked at her in astonishment.
"Mother… this ring is magical?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice thick with emotion. "Not very large, but it can store a few items."
My chest tightened.
"But… Mother, that must have been so expensive…"
"That doesn't matter," she said firmly. "Accept it wholeheartedly. Your father wanted to give it to you when you turned six… but unfortunately…"
She couldn't finish. Emotion strangled her words. Before her tears could fall, I pulled her into a strong embrace.
"Thank you, Mother," I said, my throat closing. "I'll be eternally grateful to you and Father for everything."
After a moment, I let go and turned again to the grave. I bowed deeply.
"Thank you, Father!" I declared aloud, my chest burning with emotion. "I promise to honor your sacrifice. I promise to bring honor to our name! Thank you for giving me the chance to be your son!"
Tears finally streamed down my face, as they did from hers. We stood there, side by side, sharing the same silence, heavy with both pain and love.
"Shall we go, son?" she asked, wiping her cheeks.
"Yes, Mother."
I gave one last bow and we turned away. But before we took two steps, a warm wind swept through the night, lifting our hair and flowing past us toward the headstone. I glanced back quickly — and my heart nearly stopped.
For an instant, I saw my father's smiling face watching us. It was no illusion. I knew it wasn't. And above him, wings heavy and silent, the owl appeared.
I froze in reverence.
"Thank you…" I whispered.
And then, within seconds, both my father's image and the owl dissolved into the air, as if carried away by the wind. But his smile remained etched inside me.