Leaves of Camellia Flower

As the four students before him underwent their awakenings, Ariase found himself unable to focus on them anymore.

His heart pounded against his chest, a wild rhythm of anticipation and fear.

His hands trembled as he clasped them together in a silent prayer.

'This is it… My ticket to becoming a Mystic User…'

Excitement and dread warred within him, twisting his stomach into knots.

And then—

It was finally his turn.

Ariase barely had time to take a breath before an invisible force seized him.

The moment his body lifted from the ground, gasps rippled through the students.

His long, silvery-white hair billowed around him, glowing under the altar's eerie light.

His figure, now suspended in midair, gave him an ethereal presence, like a saint walking through the void.

The students below, who had long grown numb from the process, found themselves staring with awe.

Then, just like all the others before him, Ariase was laid down on the altar.

His back pressed against the cold stone, and almost immediately, invisible chains erupted from the intricate patterns carved into the slab.

His wrists. His ankles. Bound.

His muscles tensed as realization sank in.

"So this is why they couldn't move…" he said, while beads of sweat started forming on his forehead.

There was no escaping this.

No matter how much a student screamed or thrashed, they never escaped.

Because it was impossible.

His fingers clenched, his muscles tightening in preparation. He could already feel what was coming.

And then—

The machete formed above him.

His breath caught in his throat.

From afar, it had looked ordinary yet menacing, no different from the countless times he had seen it fall upon others.

But now, with it looming over him, the blade felt monstrous.

Bigger. Heavier. Sharper.

Too sharp.

Ariase's chest heaved as panic clawed up his throat.

'Crap. Isn't that thing way too big?! I won't die from that, right?! It looked so small from a distance and yet—!'

The blade descended ominously.

Pain and agony erupted in his chest.

Ariase's body arched violently, his mouth opening in a scream so raw, so visceral, that his vocal cords slowly shredded.

He felt everything.

His sharpened senses, a gift from his purification, now became his greatest curse.

The blade tore through his lungs, stealing the air from his body.

It ripped open his stomach, and he could feel his own digestive fluids burning against the gaping wound, seeping into exposed flesh.

His mind couldn't process it. The pain was too much.

Tears streamed from his clenched-shut eyes, his nails dug deep into his palms, his consciousness flickering—

'G-god damn it! Those gods... are just a bunch of crazy shits! Why the hell did they make it like this?!'

His sight wavered. The world around him dimmed.

Darkness crept at the edges of his vision, suffocating and absolute.

His thoughts became fragmented.

His last coherent plea—

"I-I don't want to die aga…"

...

When Ariase opened his eyes again, the pain was gone.

But something was wrong.

The air felt weightless. He wasn't breathing. He wasn't alive.

"No way… Did I really die? For crying out loud, why must they—!" his fists clenched, anger flaring inside him.

He looked down subconsciously, and his breath caught as he froze.

His own body lay sprawled across the altar.

The gaping wound where the machete had torn through him was no longer bleeding out.

Time itself had stopped.

Even the world around him wasn't normal.

Everything was drenched in monochrome, a frozen, lifeless reflection of reality.

Before Ariase could even begin to make sense of what was happening.

A voice rang out behind him.

"White-haired human, be quiet, will you?"

Ariase spun around instantly. Behind him stood a figure, cloaked in white.

"Honestly, you humans are so repetitive—"

He stopped talking as he saw how Ariase maintained a distance between them and was able to move flawlessly despite being in a soul form.

This was unprecedented for a 12-year-old.

The guy wearing a white cloak smirked, his face hidden.

Ariase narrowed his eyes, "Who are you?!"

The words came out steady, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

By the time he saw the blood-red machete on the back of the cloaked individual, Ariase realized it.

'That machete... This guy must be the one overseeing the rite, but... did he hear what I said earlier?? I really hope not...'

Ariase then composed himself while gulping.

He slightly bowed to the individual and said, "I-I greet the rite manager."

A heavy silence followed.

The action of Ariase was rather unexpected.

The cloaked being removed the hood of his cloak and chuckled.

Ariase first noticed the man's black eyes with blood-red irises, shifting like liquid blood.

Then, his gaze moved to the crimson hair, flowing freely, as if dyed in the battlefields of countless deaths.

The man tilted his head, his lips curling into something almost amused.

"Rite Manager, huh? That's really something…" his eyes gleamed with intrigue.

"You might've been one of the humans who screamed the most…"

He paused and showed a slow smirk.

"But in my ten years of overseeing the awakening rite, you are the first to pay respect to me and remain composed in my presence. Interesting..."

But his smirk didn't last long.

His amusement faded as his gaze grew cold.

"It's a pity, though. If your soul were completely intact, I might have altered your destiny right now… and forced my blood element within you."

Ariase stiffened.

This spiritual being had the power to reshape him? To change his very fate and destiny?

But before he could fully process those words, the Elder Spirit of Blood let out a quiet sigh, as if losing interest.

"Well, I suppose I've talked enough."

In the next instant, he moved as the distance between them vanished in a blink.

Ariase barely had time to react before a cold hand grasped his head.

His entire body froze.

A dreadful aura poured over him like a suffocating tide, and his instincts screamed—run, escape!

But he couldn't move.

The Elder Spirit's voice was calm but absolute.

"Now… go to the real altar. Good luck, little human."

He shoved Ariase down, and the very space beneath him rippled like water.

As he sank helplessly, the Elder Spirit just watched with indifferent eyes.

Ariase plummeted through a fragmented abyss.

His lungs burned. His chest tightened.

It felt like drowning—except there was no water, only an endless void.

No light. No stars. No life.

Yet, he could feel something. No, he could see, despite the complete absence of illumination.

Threads.

Countless, infinite, stretching in every direction.

They whispered—not with words, but with emotions and memories.

And then—

Out of the millions of threads, one called to him.

It was so far, yet so near.

It ached for him. It yearned for him. It... belonged to him.

Without hesitation, Ariase reached out.

The moment his fingers brushed the thread.

His world shifted.

...

The moment he opened his eyes, he knew where he was.

He had stood here before.

His fingers trembled as a whisper escaped his lips, "This… was my home. How did I come here...?"

The almost forgotten scent of sunlit wood, the warm breeze brushing against his skin—it was real yet so fake.

And as he turned around, he saw someone.

A graceful woman, near her thirties, with warm dark brown eyes and hair the color of autumn leaves.

It was his late mother, Eliana.

Ariase's legs nearly gave out. His breath came ragged as raw emotion surged through him.

Fifteen years.

Fifteen long, agonizing years had passed since he last saw her in his previous life.

His lips parted to call out to her, but he couldn't move again, nor could his mother hear his shouts.

His body was rooted in place, as if bound by invisible chains.

And then, he noticed something else.

A 5-year-old boy stood beside her.

Ariase's blood ran cold as he recalled this almost-forgotten memory.

Tears slowly welled in his eyes as he watched himself—his younger self—stand beside his mother, full of innocent joy.

Eliana knelt down, holding out a delicate pink camellia flower.

Her voice was gentle, "Ariase, look at this camellia. Which part do you love the most?"

The young Ariase grinned, his voice filled with childlike wonder.

"Of course, the flower, Ma! It's beautiful, just like you~!"

His mother chuckled, brushing his hair back.

"You really inherited your father's sweet mouth, huh? But, if you ask me… I love its leaves the most."

The young Ariase blinked, tilting his head, "Why?"

Eliana smiled, cradling his small hands in hers.

Her voice was quiet, but heavy with meaning.

"Because, Ariase… the flower may be beautiful and elegant, but it is also fragile."

Her fingers brushed over the petals, delicate but fleeting, "Once it withers, its beauty dies with it."

She then lifted the flower's leaves, her gaze wistful.

"But the leaves… they outlive the flower's beauty. They endure. Through the harshest seasons, through storm and cold, they remain."

She looked down at her son, eyes filled with something he couldn't understand at the time, "…So, Ariase, can you promise me something?"

She lifted her pinky finger, waiting.

The young Ariase pouted slightly before nodding, linking his pinky with hers, "What is it, Ma?"

Her lips trembled as she said, "When you grow older… can you be like the leaves, not the flower?"

Ariase's breath caught as he covered his mouth, listening intently.

"Live a long, steady life, Ariase. Not a short, extravagant one."

Then, at that moment, something shifted and Eliana's gaze lifted.

And for the first time.

She looked directly at the real Ariase.

The one standing helplessly in the distance.

Ariase froze as he thought, 'S-she can see me...?'

His mother's eyes softened, filled with an aching, quiet love.

Her next words weren't for the young boy at her side.

They were for him.

"I really wish to see you live a long, unrestrained life… free from the control of others."

Her smile was tender, yet sorrowful.

"Remember, Ariase… your father and I will always be watching over you."

A single tear slipped down her cheek. Her voice cracked, but she continued—

"We will always be proud of you, son."

Her lips quivered and her voice trembled, "I'm sorry… and I love you."

Ariase's entire world shattered as tears slowly streamed down his face.

His lips moved. He tried to speak.

To say something—anything—for one last time.

But his voice would not come.

His fingers clenched, desperate to reach her.

But he couldn't.

And then... something happened.

The leaves of the camellia flower in Eliana's hand began to glow.

A radiant, intense green light surges from them, swallowing the entire memory.

Ariase shut his eyes against the brightness, his heart breaking under the weight of regret.

She was now gone.