Altair stood at the edge of the dying forest, his gaze heavy as he surveyed the land before him. Ten years had passed since the corrosion first began, creeping forward like an unstoppable plague. Though their village had not yet been swallowed, the signs were undeniable—the rivers ran thinner with each passing season, their waters sluggish and dull. The once-towering trees now stood with brittle branches, their leaves yellowed and sparse. The air itself felt lifeless, carrying the scent of decay and abandonment.
A deep sigh left his lips as he adjusted the strap of the worn basket slung over his shoulder. It was filled with medicinal herbs, but most of them were wilting, their potency fading like everything else in this land.
In their village, the only occupations were hunting or gathering and cultivating herbs in the vast forest. The village sat atop elevated land, resembling a cluster of small mountains surrounded by dense trees.
His father had been both a hunter and a forager, while his mother specialized in planting medicinal herbs. Altair had learned to do both, especially after what had happened to his father.
He sighed, loneliness tightening his chest as he looked down the quiet road, devoid of human presence. It had been a month since the villagers had left.
He looked into the distance, toward the town.
'How are they? Did they arrive safely? Or have they already moved on?' He could only pray for their safety.
His steps were slow and heavy as he made his way back home, where his mother waited for him. His heart ached at the thought of her frail condition. The medicinal herbs were nearly depleted. Where would he find the necessary ingredients for her medicine? He couldn't leave his mother alone to travel to the town or another village.
Tilting his head toward the sky, his voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.
"Father… if only you were here."
Altair clenched his fists. He felt powerless—useless.
If only… if only he had awakened an ability like the others. If he had power, he could have searched for his father himself. He could have fought against fate instead of being bound to this helpless existence.
When the corrosion began, another phenomenon occurred—people started awakening magical abilities, becoming extraordinary. When his father disappeared, he had prayed fervently to be among them. It was easier to receive aid from the government as an awakened.
But no matter how much he wished for it, reality was cruel. He was ordinary—powerless.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought away and trudged back toward the house.
—
When Altair stepped inside the small wooden home, he was met with an unexpected sight.
His mother, Alina, was awake, sitting upright in bed, gazing out the window with a peaceful expression. The soft glow of the evening sun cast a warm light across her frail figure, illuminating her hollowed cheeks and the deep shadows beneath her eyes. For a moment, she looked just like the mother he remembered from years ago—before illness and sorrow consumed her.
His breath hitched in his throat.
"Mother…"
At the sound of his voice, she turned toward him, and for the first time in two years, she smiled.
Tears welled in his eyes before spilling freely down his cheeks. His legs felt weak as he stumbled toward her, falling to his knees at her bedside. His cries were raw, unrestrained—the sound of a child mourning the inevitable.
Alina reached out with trembling hands and cupped his face gently. "My child… your mother is sorry for you."
Altair shook his head desperately. "No, Mother! Don't say that! I—I'm fine! As long as you're here, I'm fine!"
She stroked his hair, her touch as light as a feather. Her eyes, once clouded by despair, now held quiet acceptance.
"My son… it seems my time has come."
Altair's heart clenched. "No! No, Mother, you can't leave me! Please! If we go to the capital, the healers there—maybe they can—"
Alina gently pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "Listen to me, Altair. You must not waste your life waiting for the past to return." She took a deep breath, gathering the last of her strength. "I was a fool. I was blinded by grief, and in doing so, I neglected you. You should have left with the others… but instead, you stayed with me, throwing away your own life."
She smiled again, though this time, it was tinged with sadness.
"Altair. I was wrong. My weakness is my sin. Your father… he has never truly left us—he lives in our hearts, in our memories. No matter where you go, he will be with you. And in the future, I will always be with you too. So, my child, I hope you can continue to live."
Altair sobbed, clutching her frail hands as though his grip alone could keep her here. "Mother, please don't leave me… I—I can't do this alone."
She wiped his tears away, her fingers weak but gentle. "You must survive, Altair. Live well. Though the world is in chaos, I believe it will get better. I want you to be happy, to have a family of your own. You have lost your youth because of me. You should have a wife and children by now. That is all your father and I ever wished for. So promise me… live well."
Her voice grew fainter with every word, her body growing still.
"Mother—?"
Her lips parted one last time in a whisper.
"Live."
Then, her eyes closed, and the warmth faded from her body.
Altair's wail of anguish echoed through the empty village, a sound filled with sorrow and despair.
—
The grave was small, but he had done his best to make it a proper resting place. The soil was freshly packed, the wooden marker standing solemnly at the head of the mound.
Altair knelt before it, his arms wrapped tightly around the grave as if trying to hold onto what was already lost. His voice was hoarse from crying.
"Mother… I don't know how to do what you asked. But with all I have, I promise—I will be fine. I will live and survive, so you won't have to worry for me."
His body trembled from exhaustion, grief, and hunger, but he refused to leave. Eventually, the weight of his sorrow became too much to bear, and his body collapsed onto the ground. His vision blurred, and darkness crept at the edges of his mind.
Just before he lost consciousness, a voice—calm, mechanical, and unfamiliar—resounded in his head.
[Stronghold System initiating… Connecting to host…]
[Connection successful.]