Chapter 112
[Promise me you will eat the blueberry pie I make for you, child. It’s embarrassing to say it myself, but I’m a rather good cook. Once you have a taste, you’ll surely want more.]
“I’m… sorry.”
He sounded just like a father, promising to bake them often, whenever blueberries were in season. Insisting we must all eat them together, even though he knew full well it was an impossible promise.
I couldn’t even bring myself to say I would come again.
I bit my lip hard, then abruptly bowed low.
“It’s time for the ball, so I must be going, Father.”
[…]
Without a single backward glance, I walked away quickly.
***
Ailee had treated Dale’s control mechanism, anticipating his condition for when she would eventually leave, but there was one thing she hadn’t foreseen.
Once the overflow of power—enough to cause a rampage—subsides to a certain point, the human body can begin to regulate itself.
This was why, when Ailee was young and unaware of her abilities, the small fissures she saw in others would sometimes disappear; the power leaking from her would resolve their minor instabilities.
But even now, aware of her abilities, she was only at a fledgling stage and couldn’t perceive such subtleties.
Fighting back tears, Ailee climbed into the carriage. Its wheels rolled smoothly forward, chased by the evening glow.
Around the time the carriage carrying Ailee and Daykin was approaching the ballroom, an unprecedented change began to occur in Dale’s body.
Just a little more, a little faster!
The small fissures within Dale slowly began to organize his power on their own. His spirit grew increasingly transparent until, finally, it was sucked rapidly back into his body.
His vision swam and spun before beginning to settle. The door clicked open. The medic who had been watching over Dale stepped out, and the person who entered the room was his wife, Minerva.
He thrashed against the crushing pain in his body and the dizzying sensation of his soul and body reuniting.
Unaware that her husband was groaning in a desperate struggle to awaken, Minerva sat beside him with practiced familiarity.
She touched his forehead, which now showed the subtle marks of age, and smiled warmly.
“I just sent the children off. It would have been wonderful if you could have seen them off with me. But that’s just me being greedy, I suppose.”
“…”
A deep silence answered, but it was one Minerva had grown accustomed to. For the past several years, she had hoped he might miraculously open his eyes. But no matter how much she prayed, it had never happened, and she now knew that such a wish was a luxury.
And yet, at this very moment, such a miracle was about to occur.
Minerva, Minerva, Minerva!
He called for his wife in agony. But no matter how he shouted, the sound could not escape his suffocating body. His entire being still felt disconnected, his mind and body separate. He struggled with all his might, like someone fighting against sleep paralysis.
And then, at last, his floating soul snapped perfectly into place within his body.
“…”
For the first time in five years, Dale felt the sensation of his own eyes. Had his eyelids always been this heavy? His mind, struggling to adapt, felt incredibly drowsy. His body felt as hard as stone one moment, then like a liquid the next, sensation spreading sluggishly through his limp form.
His long-dormant brain struggled to process the situation, leaving him bewildered. It kept fumbling for memories, asking, What was I trying to do?
I have to save my daughter-in-law! Quickly, my eyes… open my eyes… open…
Dale repeated the objective over and over, determined not to forget.
A flicker. Dale’s eyelashes trembled faintly, like a chick about to break through its shell. He fought against the very air that pressed down on his body, as if battling the world itself.
Seeing this, Minerva froze. Had she seen it wrong? Could his eyelashes have stirred from her own breath? She tried to master her emotions, not daring to cling to a false hope.
But what she was seeing was unmistakably the powerful struggle of a man trying to open his eyes. She wondered if it was a dream, but it felt real. Afraid the reality might shatter and disappear, Minerva held her breath and called to him in a tiny voice.
“…My love?”
As if in answer to his wife’s call, Dale summoned every last ounce of his strength.
And then, finally. At long last.
Dale opened his eyes.
“!”
Her eyes met Dale’s, and Minerva shot up from her seat, stumbling backward in shock. Her chair caught her legs and nearly toppled, but she managed to stay upright. She gasped in ragged, intermittent breaths, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe.
A dream? Is this real? Or am I hallucinating?
When Dale’s lips twitched as if to speak, Minerva finally snapped back to her senses. She belatedly threw the door open with a resounding crash, nearly tearing it from its hinges. The medical mages on standby rushed toward her at the commotion.
“My—my husband! My husband, Dale—!”
For a fleeting moment, the mages thought the Duke had finally passed away. But when they entered the room, they were met with a sight that was the complete opposite of their expectations—something utterly unbelievable.
The former Duke had awakened.
An unexpected uproar shattered the tranquility of the Ducal estate.
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