Silas felt something stir deep within the void that had consumed him for two long years—something foreign, something beyond the relentless cycle of pain and numb emptiness. Warmth. It crept through him slowly, hesitantly, as though testing the fragile boundaries of his broken body. At first, he dismissed it as another cruel mirage, a flicker of hope sent to taunt him in his suffering. But the warmth persisted. It grew, spreading steadily, insistently, melting the icy numbness that had been his prison for so long.
Emotion surged within him, raw and uncontrollable, rising like a tidal wave that crashed into every corner of his being. Tears—real tears—welled up and spilled freely down his cheeks. After years of emptiness, of despair so vast it had swallowed him whole, the simple act of crying felt like a miracle. Each drop carried with it the weight of pain he had borne in silence, a long-forgotten part of himself breaking free. Silent sobs wracked his chest as the warmth filled him, chasing away the void and reigniting the faint ember of life he had believed extinguished forever. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Silas felt alive.
The pain—the ceaseless, gnawing ache that had been his unyielding shadow—began to dissolve. At first, Silas couldn't believe it, clinging to his doubt like armor against disappointment. He braced himself for the return of that familiar torment, afraid to let the flicker of hope grow any brighter. But the agony receded further and further, pulling away like a tide that would not return. Until finally, it was gone.
A choked, trembling sound escaped him—a sob, raw and fierce, filled with the shock of something long buried stirring to life. Trembling with an emotion too large to contain, he gathered every ounce of focus left within him and directed it toward his hand.
Move. The word echoed through his mind, sharp and desperate. Move.
For a moment, there was nothing—just silence, stillness, and the ghost of his own doubt. But then, like a crack in an unbreakable wall, it happened. His finger twitched. It was small, a movement so slight it might have gone unnoticed, but to Silas, it was everything. That tiny shift shattered the world of stillness he had known for so long. It was freedom. It was hope. It was life.
A fresh flood of tears escaped him, pouring freely as he lay there, his chest heaving with sobs that came from a place deeper than words. The dam holding back two years of despair, fear, and yearning had finally broken. Silas blinked, his vision blurry with tears, as his eyes opened for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. The room swam into focus—the flickering glow of candles, their soft light casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. But none of that mattered. His gaze locked onto the one thing that did. His mother.
Alice knelt beside his bed, her face streaked with tears. Her hands hovered just above him, trembling as though she didn't dare touch him, afraid to shatter the fragile miracle before her. Her wide, tear-filled eyes stared at him in disbelief, her breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. Silas's heart clenched painfully at the sight of her. The years of sacrifice, of sleepless nights and heartbreak, were etched into every line of her face. She had given everything for him. She had endured so much pain, carried so much weight, all for his sake. And now, here she was, looking at him as though he was her entire world.
"Mom…" His voice broke, raw and hoarse from years of disuse, but it came. It was there. It was real.
Alice's lips parted, her trembling hand finally reaching out to touch his face. "Silas…" she whispered, her voice breaking as tears spilled from her eyes. Her fingers brushed his skin, light and trembling, and then, as if some unspoken dam within her had finally burst, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace.
Silas held her as tightly as he could, though his strength was only just beginning to return. His arms shook as they wrapped around her, his fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. Together, they cried, their sobs filling the room as years of pain and despair poured out in torrents. Their tears mingled, their breaths came in ragged gasps, but neither of them cared. They stayed like that, holding onto one another as though letting go would shatter the fragile miracle they had been given.
It was real. The thought echoed in Silas's mind, as steady and certain as the warmth now coursing through his veins. It was real.
Minutes passed, or perhaps hours—it was impossible to tell. Time seemed to blur as they clung to one another, caught in a moment too precious to release. Silas buried his face in his mother's shoulder, his tears soaking into her shirt as he whispered silent promises into the space between them. He would never forget this. He would never forget what she had done for him, the sacrifices she had made, the love she had given without hesitation. She had carried him through his darkest days, and he knew, deep in his soul, that he would never be able to repay her—not in this life, nor the next.
Finally, Silas pulled back, his hands trembling as they gripped her shoulders. He looked into her eyes—eyes still brimming with tears, but now shining with a joy he hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. Her lips curved into a smile, one that was both fragile and radiant, a smile that seemed to contain all the love and relief she felt in that moment.
"You're here," she whispered, her voice soft but steady, her fingers brushing the tears from his cheeks. "You're really here."
Silas nodded, his voice too choked with emotion to respond. And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he sat up. His legs, once lifeless and weak, swung over the side of the bed. His feet touched the floor, and he stood. His body—the body he thought he had lost forever—was whole again. He took a breath, deep and steady, and then he took a step. Another. And then he was running, laughing through his tears as his mother watched, her hands pressed to her mouth, her own laughter and sobs mingling in the air.
For the first time in two years, Silas felt free. And as he finally stopped, leaning against the wall to catch his breath, he turned back to Alice, his heart full, his soul alive. Neither of them spoke, but they didn't need to.
After a long time his mother spoke first
"You're here," she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief and joy, as though the words themselves might shatter under their weight. "You're really here."
Silas nodded, his legs shaky as he pushed himself up, the unfamiliar weight of his own body grounding him. His muscles trembled, unused to bearing his weight after two years of stillness, but they held. Slowly, he took a step, his breath caught in his chest, and then another. His movements grew steadier, each step more certain than the last. Before he knew it, he was running, his laughter bursting forth in a sound that was raw and joyful, filling the room. His arms stretched out as he jumped, his body reveling in freedom.
"I can't believe it," he whispered through his grin, his voice trembling with the awe of being whole again. "I can move. I can run."
Alice stood by the bed, her hands pressed to her mouth, her tear-streaked face glowing with a mixture of relief and uncontainable joy. She watched as Silas stopped running and leaned against the wall, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Her son was alive again, truly alive, and for the first time in years, there was light in his eyes.
But then, something caught Silas's attention. At the edge of his vision, faint but distinct, hovered a glow—a timer. It ticked down steadily, its numbers shifting with quiet precision. It wasn't glaring or intrusive, but once he noticed it, he couldn't unsee it. It lingered like a shadow, waiting to be acknowledged.
"What is this?" Silas murmured to himself, his brow furrowing as his thoughts turned toward the Pagoda. The name surfaced unbidden in his mind, carrying a weight that sent a shiver through him. Almost instinctively, he asked himself, What are the odds of surviving its trials?
Eleven percent, came the calm, mechanical response.
Silas froze, his heart pounding as the system's voice echoed in his thoughts. He swallowed hard. "Wait," he thought sharply. "Who are you?"
Silence.
"Why are you doing this?" he pressed, his thoughts racing, but again, there was no response.
"What is the Pagoda?" he asked instead.
The system answered without hesitation. A place to learn cultivation and challenge the seven floors.
Alice blinked, her face clouding with concern. Her son was staring into space, his focus locked on something invisible, as if she wasn't even there. "Hold on, Mom," he muttered, barely glancing her way, "I'm talking to the system—or whatever it is." Alice nodded before she started interacting with the system herself
Silas refocused, his thoughts growing sharper. "What are the chances of surviving the Pagoda?"
The system's voice responded immediately. If one does not challenge the seven floors, there is a 100% survival rate. However, there is a 99% chance the host will die upon being forced out of the Pagoda after three years.
Silas's stomach turned, his fists clenching as the gravity of those numbers sank in. The chances of surviving weren't just low—they were nearly impossible. And then his thoughts turned to the only person who mattered most.
"What are the odds my mom survives the Pagoda if she challenges it?" he thought, his voice in his mind laced with fear.
Calculating… The pause felt like an eternity before the system responded. Host's mother has an 11% chance of survival if she challenges all seven floors. If Host's mother stops at the sixth floor, her survival chance increases to 49%.
Silas's chest tightened. He clenched his fists, frustration and panic bubbling within him. "And if she leaves the Pagoda after only challenging six floors?" he asked desperately.
This time, the system didn't respond. Its silence was deliberate, maddening.
But one final question clawed at the back of his mind, one he couldn't shake. What if my mother tries to endure the Awakening without entering the Pagoda?
The system's response was immediate. Three percent.
Silas's heart dropped. "What? Three percent?" he whispered aloud, his voice shaking. "We have a three percent chance?"
Incorrect, the system replied, its tone as neutral and emotionless as ever. Host's mother has a three percent chance of survival. Host has a seven percent chance.
Silas's fists clenched tighter. "Seven? Why seven?" He inhaled sharply, his mind racing. Wait—if I send my mom to the Pagoda, what are my chances?
Host's chance increases to twelve percent if Host's mother is sent to the Pagoda.
"What?" Silas's voice cracked. "Why is sending her to the Pagoda better for my odds? What does that have to do with me?"
The system refused to answer. Its silence felt like a wall, impenetrable and infuriating. Silas gritted his teeth, the frustration gnawing at him, but he pushed the anger aside. He didn't have time for emotions—not now.
He turned back to Alice, her concern now more evident as she watched him. She had been his rock, his anchor through everything, and she had sacrificed more than he could ever repay. Now, it was his turn to protect her. His turn to make sure she survived, even if it meant convincing her to do something she might not want to.
Silas took a steadying breath, his resolve hardening. "Mom," he said, his voice firm yet tender. "We need to talk."