The flicker of hope that Lyna's condition might be improving was swiftly extinguished the following day as she regressed back to her weakened state. Amukelo's heart sank as he watched his mother, once the pillar of their small family, struggle with her health. With a heavy heart, he administered the herbs once more, his voice gentle yet tinged with a firm insistence. "Mom, please, don't do anything even if you feel better. Rest is crucial for you." Lyna, seeing the worry etched deep in her son's face, nodded weakly and complied, "Okay, Amu."
Returning to the field, Amukelo found himself distracted, the tasks at hand feeling trivial compared to the weight of his mother's illness. Late fall was upon them, and the work in the fields was dwindling, giving him more time to worry about their diminishing savings and the approaching cold months. Determined to keep his mother as comfortable as possible, he used most of their remaining money to buy extra blankets, fearing that the ones they had wouldn't suffice if the winter turned harsh.
Amukelo also began to eat less, rationing their food to ensure that Lyna could eat whatever she might want or need without concern. He meticulously prepared their food supplies for the winter, his actions marked by a quiet desperation to maintain some semblance of stability.
As winter enveloped their village in its cold embrace, Amukelo found himself withdrawing from the world outside, focusing all his attention and care on Lyna. He was her constant companion, reading the signs of any discomfort or need she might have before she even had to speak. Lyna's condition stabilized somewhat with his care, and Amukelo's presence seemed to provide her with a sense of peace.
In the quiet moments when Lyna slept, Amukelo sought solace in his swordsmanship training. The physical exertion was both a distraction and a way to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Yet, the solitude of the practice only reminded him of the burdens he carried alone.
One particularly cold evening, as the wind howled outside their modest home, Lyna, wrapped in her new blankets, looked up at Amukelo with a tired but fond smile. "It might be my last winter, Amu," she said softly, a statement that seemed to hover in the air like a frost.
Amukelo quickly shook his head, a pang of fear gripping his heart. "Mom, don't talk like that. I'm sure you will live through many more winters," he replied, his voice strained with the effort to sound confident.
Lyna's smile widened a little, sadness and love mingling in her eyes. "I love you, Amu," she murmured, reaching out to squeeze his hand.
Wanting to distract her from such morbid thoughts, Amukelo began to regale her with tales of the adventures he dreamed of, of places beyond their village and feats of bravery and exploration. Lyna listened, her smile lingering, though her eyes occasionally clouded with the unspoken knowledge of her own frailty.
That night, after Lyna had drifted into a fitful sleep, Amukelo retired to the next room. Alone with his thoughts, the dam holding back his emotions finally broke. Tears streamed down his cheeks, warm and relentless. "Huh?" he muttered to himself in surprise as he tried to wipe them away, only for them to be replenished as quickly as they were removed.
Surrendering to his grief, Amukelo slumped into the corner of the room, his body racked with sobs. "Mikal, Jarek, if only you were here for her... and for me," he whispered into the quiet room, his voice carrying a mix of longing and despair. The burden of his responsibilities, the fear of his mother's mortality, and the isolation of his struggle converged, overwhelming him with a profound sense of vulnerability and sorrow.
The cold grip of winter held the village tightly, and inside their modest home, Amukelo and Lyna faced each day with a quiet resilience. Amukelo took care of all the household chores, ensuring his mother had everything she needed while she battled her illness. When she was awake, he was her steadfast companion, filling their time together with light conversation and silent support. And when she slept, which was most of the day, he used those precious moments to maintain his physical strength and skill, practicing his swordsmanship diligently in a separate room.
Despite the harsh winter, there were hopeful signs that Lyna might see the season through, which lifted Amukelo's spirits, feeding his hope that spring would bring a resurgence of health for his mother. But this fragile optimism was shattered one stormy day, with fierce winds howling outside, burying the village under a thick blanket of snow. Inside, the atmosphere was even graver.
Lyna, paler and weaker than ever, lay in her bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Amukelo sat by her side, holding her hand, trying to offer warmth and comfort through his touch. It was then she spoke with a voice so frail it seemed to blend with the whisper of the storm outside.
"Amu... I think this might be my last day." Her words were a chilling wind, cutting deeper than the icy air outside.
Amukelo's voice cracked, his words tumbling out in a desperate plea as he clutched her hand tighter. "Mo... Mom, what are you saying? You will get through this. We will have spring really soon. From then on, everything will be only better."
Lyna, mustering the last of her strength, gently shook her head. "I don't think that will happen," she whispered. "Amu, please promise me that you will live through amazing adventures like the ones you told me about. Please don't live with grief and be kind to others. You are strong, I know that. I love you, my dear, and I always wi..." Her voice trailed off, her energy spent, and her hand went limp in his.
"Mom... Mom!.. MOM! Please, speak to me... Mom..." Amukelo's pleas filled the room, a stark contrast to the silence that answered him. He sat next to her, frozen in shock and disbelief, as tears streamed down his face. After what felt like an eternity, he mustered the strength to check for any sign of her heartbeat, any proof that her spirit was still with him. But there was none.
The room fell into a profound silence, broken only by the soft sound of his weeping. Amukelo sat there, lost in a sea of grief, staring at his mother's peaceful face. The world outside faded to nothingness; the storm, the cold, and the passage of time all became distant and irrelevant. In that moment, there was only the profound pain of loss, the finality of goodbye.
As hours slipped by, Amukelo remained by her side, his mind replaying every moment they had shared, every story she had loved, every smile they had exchanged. The promises he had made to her echoed in his heart—a vow to live a life full of adventure and kindness, to honor her memory by embracing the world with the strength and courage she knew he possessed.