Chapter 11: The White Rain (Part 1)

~ A Few Minutes Earlier

The night stretched endlessly, a vast and unbroken canvas of deep indigo, where the full moon hung low and silent, its argent glow casting soft, silvered shadows across the village of Sigsug.

Down below, within the quiet walls of one of the houses, a woman in her mid-forties sat settled into the embrace of a comfortable couch. Her red hair was pinned up in a neat bun, and her orange eyes watched her hands with a serene focus as two knitting needles moved in a calm, rhythmic dance, weaving through a strand of white wool.

Jasmine knitted peacefully, a quiet hum escaping her lips as she gave herself over to the simple task.

Her son, Ren, was seated on a couch nearer to the chimney, his green eyes distant as he stared into the flames that crackled and swayed with a hypnotic, gold-blue hue.

“Mom,” he called out, his voice easy but probing.

“Yes, dear,” Jasmine replied, her attention still held by the gentle click of her needles.

With his mother’s acknowledgement, Ren pressed on. “When did Dad say he’d return in his new letter?”

Jasmine’s fingers paused, the needles going still in her hands. Her eyes flicked briefly toward her son, and a sad smile touched her lips before she looked back down at the wool and resumed her knitting. “By the end of winter,” she said.

Ren groaned in frustration. “But he said this month, two months ago.”

Jasmine hummed, the smile still playing on her lips. “Well… let’s just hope for this one, then,” she offered, prompting another, deeper groan from Ren as he slumped back against the couch cushions.

Then, as if a thought had just landed, he straightened himself slowly. “Mom,” he called again.

Jasmine raised a brow, a small, knowing smile already forming as she anticipated yet another question from her son. “Yes, my dear boy.”

Ren paused, his thoughts seeming to turn over carefully in his mind. After a few heartbeats, he opened his mouth. “This afternoon, while I was near the plagued field, I met Molly.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “And I witnessed her cast magic without a voice again.”

Jasmine’s hands halted once more. A worried expression flickered across her face as her eyes darted to where Ren sat. “What happened? Did anything go wrong on her way back? Did you get injured? Why are you telling me now? Did—”

“Mom,” Ren sighed deeply, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, already knowing his mother worried too much. “Nothing happened. We just saw a mana-poisoned ginger rhino beetle, so she healed it. That’s all.”

Jasmine stared at her son for a long moment. Then, after a few heartbeats, the tension in her features slowly receded. A sigh escaped her as she returned to her knitting. “Alright.”

“Is it really possible?” Ren’s voice came the moment she had begun to focus again.

A frown creased her brow. “What do you mean?” she asked, though she already knew what her son was trying to say.

Ren groaned. “Mom, you always ignore me whenever I ask this. Please, just answer.” He paused, then finally gave voice to the question that had been churning inside him. “Is it possible for someone who can’t speak to chant a magic spell?”

Jasmine stilled, her fingers ceasing their work. Her eyes drifted to the window, gazing out at the night sky that blanketed the world in an indigo hue. A small smile graced her lips as she shifted her focus back to the wool and began knitting again. “Hmmm… maybe. I don’t know.” She finally glanced at her son, an amused expression surfacing. “Haven’t you been reading your books?”

Ren pouted, letting out a tired groan. “Yes, Mom,” he said. “And based on what I’ve read, no one can chant without a voice. No mages or unawakened can do that. Only the legendary archmages or the myth sages could perform such a feat.” He sighed deeply. “That’s why I’ve been asking you.”

His weary but determined gaze finally shifted from his mother and landed on a figure lying on a long couch opposite his. A book she had been reading lay open, covering her face as if she had fallen asleep. A frown surfaced on his face. “Come on Fiona, say something. Join me in bringing out the truth from Mother.”

The young woman in question didn’t reply. She remained in that position, paying her younger brother no mind, as if she truly were sleeping, which Ren knew full well she wasn’t.

A thought sparked in his mind, and his frown soon twisted into a mischievous smile that spread across his lips. He rose slowly from his couch and tiptoed over to where Fiona lay. Reaching her, he crouched slightly, coiling his body like a spring ready to release.

Then he jumped on her—or wanted to, because before he could land, Fiona casually raised a hand and held him suspended in the air.

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A deep sigh escaped her as she pulled the book from her face, a smirk already plastered on her lips. “Still too slow, even after six years,” she said in a mock-playful tone.

Still held aloft by his sister’s hand, Ren grinned. “Who says I’m slow?” he countered as she dropped him down. “I’m just giving you an easy time to test if you’ve gotten rusty.”

His smile widened with pride as he puffed out his chest. “Because the Ren you see here isn’t the weak Ren of six years ago.” He shot her a glance. “This Ren has a potential of twenty-eight, which makes me a late-stage Apprentice on the verge of becoming an Adept,” he declared boldly.

Fiona gave a short gasp of surprise. “Whoa, are you serious, little muffin?”

Ren nodded with pride, but a frown soon creased his features as her words registered. “You’re not allowed to call me that,” he stated before turning slightly away. “Only Mom and Dad are allowed to call me that.”

Fiona laughed. “Oh, really?” She sat up and caught her little brother in a tight embrace, ruffling his hair until he dissolved into giggles. “Haha, stop!” he managed.

Fiona grinned. “Not until you give me permission to call you that.”