That night, Caelum waited. He sat on his bed in the dark, listening to the quiet sounds of the house. He heard his father's heavy footsteps walk down the hall. He heard the soft click of his father's bedroom door.
He was alone.
Caelum slipped off his bed. He crept down the hallway to his mother's room. The door was open just a little. He pushed it open and went inside.
The room was cold. His mother was a still shape under the blankets. Her breathing was a weak, shallow sound.
He walked to the bed. He reached out and took her hand. It was cold like a stone.
He closed his eyes. He did not think of fear. He thought of his mother's smile. He thought of her gentle hands. He searched for the small, warm feeling in his chest. He found it. He held it.
He imagined the warmth flowing down his arm, through his own hand, and into hers. A faint, golden light glowed from his palm, casting a soft light on his mother's pale face. This light was Ether, the magic of this world. It did not come from old books or ancient words. It came from the soul itself, and strong feelings like love, hate, and fear were its fuel. To be strong in Ether, a person had to feel things deeply. For Caelum, this simple act of love was his first true use of that power.
The golden light faded. He pulled his hand back. A deep tiredness settled into his bones. The world felt blurry, and he had to hold onto the bed to keep from falling.
He looked at his mother.
A little bit of color had returned to her cheeks. Her breathing was not as shallow. It was a little deeper. A little stronger.
It was not a cure. But it was a start.
Caelum stumbled back to his room, his body heavy with exhaustion. He fell onto his bed and was asleep in seconds.