The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

Seven days had passed in the blink of an eye.

The house was still asleep when Elian awoke from his slumber. To the world outside, it was just another ordinary morning — but not to him, nor to his family. This morning was the last one they would share breakfast together before a new routine began. And even if it would only be for five days a week, with his return on weekends… it already felt like an eternity.

The day had come: the beginning of his training with Elise.

Elian rose slowly and slipped into the gray tunic Maria had sewn by hand. Embroidered into the fabric, with care and simplicity, were the letters: M.A.A.E.

The initials of his parents and siblings. While stitching, Maria had imagined that, if he carried that little symbol with him, perhaps he would remember home — and perhaps, just perhaps, he wouldn't feel so alone.

As he dressed, Elian couldn't help but wonder:

"How long did she take to make this?"

It was a legitimate question, for he had never seen her sewing. Not out of neglect, but because Maria had chosen to do it in secret — giving up her nights to prepare her son's clothing, stitch by stitch, with tired hands and a heavy heart.

It wasn't a rich tunic, nor anything worthy of nobles. But it was what he had. And for him… it was enough. It was everything.

After dressing, Elian stepped quietly into the backyard, where the world still slumbered beneath a veil of stars.

The morning air was cold and damp. Even with the tunic and other clothes layered underneath, the wind cut gently against his skin. The scent of dew and moist earth mingled with the smell of chickens and pigs from the pen — the smell of home, of a week spent helping clean the stalls alongside Anthony and Emanuelle.

On the horizon, a single star gleamed in the sky. Elian didn't know its name in this world, but on Earth, it was known as Venus — the morning star.

He stood there, lost in thought, until a soft voice rose behind him.

"Elian?"

He turned and saw Maria. Her hair tousled, a yawn barely stifled… and eyes already glistening with feelings too vast for her voice.

"Good morning, Mama," he replied with a serene smile.

"You're up early. Didn't sleep well?" she asked, approaching him.

Elian shrugged, the smile still on his lips. It was that image — her face at dawn, the way her voice carried love even when weary — that he would no longer have every morning. And that hurt more than he would admit.

Maria felt the silence within him. And then she spoke.

"Elian… you know I never wanted you to go," she said softly, as if confessing a secret. "But I also know it would be selfish of me to keep you here. It wouldn't be fair to waste the gift you carry just because I… don't want to let you go."

Maria was never ashamed of her work with Arthur and Anthony. The fields were part of life — as noble as any other. But Elian's talent was different. And she knew it. She had known since the day he was born.

And now, with Elise willing to train him — and even offer something for Emanuelle — a small comfort had bloomed in her chest. Her daughter, too, would have a broader future. And perhaps, one day, even Anthony would benefit from it.

Maria said nothing more. She simply stood beside her son, in silence. Because sometimes, a mother's love needs no words — it speaks in the fabric of a tunic, in the shadows under sleepless eyes, in the way she holds back her sorrow… just so her child can leave with a little less weight in his heart.

"I know, Mama," Elian replied, his voice low, barely a whisper. "For a moment, I almost regretted saying yes…"

He lifted his gaze to the sky, returning to the solitary star on the horizon — the same one that had consoled him just moments earlier.

"But when I remembered what happened with Manu, that hesitation vanished." His eyes met hers. "I don't want to see you, Papa, Anthony, or Manu suffer. If something ever threatens us… I want to be strong enough to protect all of you."

Maria didn't answer right away. But something in her expression softened. A fragment of the past — one that still slept deep in memory — stirred in her heart. One day, she would speak of it. To him. To the others. But that day had yet to come.

She stepped closer. Elian was still so small — his shoulders delicate, his frame slight, barely over a meter tall. And yet… he spoke like someone who had lived far more than his years.

Maria embraced him, wrapping him in a hug that carried all the words she didn't know how to say.

"I know, my son…" she murmured tenderly.

They stood like that for a few moments — just mother and son, beneath a waking sky. The cold seemed less sharp in that instant. And the silence between them wasn't emptiness — it was shelter.

Then Maria stepped back slightly, offering a gentle smile that revealed less than it concealed, and said:

"Will you help me make breakfast?"

Elian answered with bright enthusiasm, almost bouncing in place:

"Of course, Mama!"

And the two walked back inside together — side by side, with small steps and hearts intertwined by a love that no distance, not even magic, could ever erase.

While they prepared breakfast, the first sounds of the waking house began to echo through the mud walls. The scent of boiling tea and the porridge Maria stirred mingled with the smoke of burning wood — a quiet call for the day to begin.

The first to appear was Arthur. He stepped into the small kitchen with a long yawn, eyes half-closed, rubbing the back of his neck in that typical way of someone still shaking off sleep. He paused at the doorway for a moment, watching Elian beside Maria, carefully helping set the table.

"That tunic suits you, Elian," he said, with a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

"Of course it does," Maria replied proudly, her chest swelling with joy. "I made it."

Elian smiled. The simple cloth on his body now felt like a suit of affection. Every stitch, every thread, was a quiet reminder that he belonged — to something, to someone.

Arthur stepped into the yard to splash water on his face and wake himself up fully, while Elian and Maria finished laying the chipped plates on the table.

Soon after, Anthony appeared, already dressed for work in the fields. His expression was grumpy, as if he'd have liked a few more minutes of sleep, but his steady steps betrayed that, deep down, he was ready for whatever the day would bring.

Only Emanuelle was missing to complete the family circle.

"I'll go get her," Elian offered.

He walked calmly to the room where the three siblings slept. When he gently pushed the wooden door open, he barely had time to speak — he was met with a sudden, tight hug. Emanuelle's arms wrapped around him like roots of longing that didn't want to let go.

"Good morning, Manu. You're up early, huh?" said Elian, trying to mask his emotion with a smile.

"I dreamed you had left… without saying goodbye," she said, her voice thick, her face still pressed against his shoulder. "When I woke up and didn't see you in bed, my chest tightened. I thought I wouldn't see you again."

Elian felt the weight of her words strike deep. But instead of retreating, he wrapped his arms around Emanuelle.

"I promised I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, remember?" he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. Emanuelle, slightly taller than him, hugged with the strength of someone who wished they could stop time.

"I know, but still…"

"I'm still here, Manu. Now come on… Mama made breakfast."

She nodded silently, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. They walked together to the kitchen, hands entwined.

The table was already set, modest as always — warm tea, a bit of porridge, and rustic bread made by Maria with whatever she had on hand. Hunger wasn't strong, but the moment was.

They sat in silence.

No one spoke during those first few minutes. Everyone knew what this day meant. The emptiness that would follow. And no one wanted to be the first to name that pain.

At last, Arthur broke the silence:

"I'll ready the cart for the trip, Elian," he said as he rose calmly. "Go get your things."

The sound of the chair scraping against the packed-earth floor seemed to mark the beginning of a quiet farewell.

And in that moment, the air grew heavier — as if the house itself knew that, for a few days, a piece of it would be missing.

---

While Arthur prepared the cart outside, Elian finished organizing his things into a simple, thick-fabric bag.

"This bag was made by your grandmother, Elian," said Maria as she handed it to him with care. "My mother was a fine seamstress."

Elian had always wondered about his grandparents, but never gave voice to those questions. He kept them to himself, as if afraid to touch an old wound. He always told himself he'd ask one day… but that day never came.

"Promise me you'll eat well?" Maria asked, embracing him tightly. "And don't cause trouble for Elise, okay? If you ever feel lonely… I'll come get you, alright?"

She chuckled as she spoke, but her eyes betrayed that it wasn't just a joke. Every word was real.

Before Elian could answer, Anthony approached and extended his hand — a rare gesture. Elian barely had time to touch it before being pulled into a quick, awkward hug. Anthony, always reserved, rarely showed affection like that. It surprised Elian — and warmed him deeply.

"Don't forget our promise by the river," Anthony said as he let go.

"Of course not. I won't forget," Elian replied firmly.

Only Emanuelle remained.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Elian knew how much the separation, however brief, would hurt her — but he hadn't expected her to simply vanish. She hadn't even waited for him to finish breakfast.

"That girl…" Maria murmured. "Of all people, she's the one most attached to you… where did she go?"

Elian didn't need to think long. He knew exactly where she was.

"I know where she is," he said, already heading toward the front door.

Behind the house, where they usually trained magic, Emanuelle was there. As always.

She had changed out of her simple breakfast clothes into a light blue dress. Her hair, tied back with a golden ribbon — a gift from Elise — danced in the wind. Elian stood still, watching her in silence. There was something solemn in the way she formed a sphere of water and hurled it at a fallen stump, hitting it dead center.

He didn't call her name. He simply approached and, after another perfect strike from her, summoned a stone spear and hurled it at the same target. Emanuelle turned. Her eyes were wet, her hands trembling.

She was crying — or trying not to.

"You're not going to say goodbye to me, Manu?" Elian asked, approaching gently.

Emanuelle shook her head. She tried to speak, but nothing came. Her voice was caught, her chest tight.

She swallowed one word, tugged at another, but only managed half a sentence:

"… what if you… um…"

Elian gently took her wrist — firm, but kind.

"I'll be back before you even have time to miss me, remember?"

"That's not real," she replied, between tears and a forced smile. "I miss you even before you leave."

Elian smiled, and to lighten the mood, threw her a challenge:

"Manu… when I'm back on Friday, I want to see you hit that stone target three times in a row."

"Only three? Get ready — I'll make it five!" she shot back, her eyes now gleaming.

"Five? I'll believe it when I see it!" Elian laughed. "If you hit five… let me think… I'll give you a gift. A new dress, with what Elise gives me."

"Ha! You're going to regret promising me that!" Emanuelle said, laughing — really laughing — for the first time that morning.

Then Arthur's voice echoed from the front of the house:

"Elian, let's go!"

"Coming!" he shouted back. Then, turning to Emanuelle: "Shall we?"

She nodded, and the two walked together back toward the front of the house.

"Bye, Mama. Bye, Anthony. Bye, Manu," said Elian, already climbing into the cart.

The cart began to move, the hooves of the donkey and the wooden wheels creaking over the hard-packed road.

Then Elian heard:

"Papa, wait!" Emanuelle cried, running after the cart with her heart in her throat.

Arthur pulled the reins. He was about to say she couldn't go with them — but stayed silent.

"Here, Eli," Emanuelle said breathlessly, as she took the golden ribbon from her hair. "Take it with you, so you don't forget your promise. Or me."

Elian accepted the ribbon with care. Before she could turn away, he pulled from his bag the small grimoire he had received as a gift.

"Here, you keep this, Manu," he said, handing her the book. "I drew some notes and pictures. You can try practicing while I'm away."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." He smiled. "You take care of my grimoire, and I'll take care of your ribbon. That way, neither of us forgets the other."

He tied the golden ribbon around his right arm, like a charm.

And then, the cart resumed its journey. Emanuelle ran a few steps, to the gate, and stopped there — the grimoire clutched to her chest — watching her brother leave.

The road slowly swallowed Elian's small figure, while the golden ribbon fluttered in the wind — like a silent farewell, like a piece of the heart left behind.