Chapter 40: A Winter Miracle
Year 0002, XII-XIII Month: The Imperium
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In a State between Life and Death
The days in the small village passed without much incident; life continued as it always had, following the familiar rhythms of work and rest. The crisp winter air carried the scent of pine and woodsmoke as villagers went about their daily routines, their breath forming small clouds in the cold.
It was now the fourth week of the third month of the winter season, and Jonathan Ross remained in a comatose state. His chest barely rose with each shallow breath, his skin pale and waxy in the dim light of the small room where they kept him. The flames from the hearth cast dancing shadows across his gaunt face, highlighting the hollows beneath his cheekbones.
After waiting for so long for him to naturally awaken, the villagers had begun to lose hope. Their sole healer Theressa had done everything possible, using all the herbs and remedies at her disposal, but nothing seemed to rouse him from his deep slumber.
August watched over Jonathan with growing concern. The man's breathing had become more labored with each passing day, as if he were on some kind of battery-saving mode—preserving only his most essential bodily functions. The rise and fall of his chest was now barely perceptible, and his pulse fluttered weakly beneath August's fingertips whenever he checked.
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A Solution
One evening during dinner, when the entire village gathered around the communal table as was their custom, August finally posed the heavy question that had been weighing on his mind. The crackling fire and clinking of utensils fell silent as he spoke, his voice carrying through the hall.
"We need to discuss about uncle Jonathan," he said, looking around at the familiar faces illuminated by candlelight. "He's not improving. In fact, I fear he's slipping away from us everyday."
The question hung in the air like the smoke from the hearth—what should they do with the unconscious and dying man, their friend and a father to Gel? The villagers exchanged glances, some worried, others resigned. They had all come to care for Jonathan since their arrival, and none wished to see him perish.
After much deliberation, voices rising and falling as different opinions were offered, they reached a consensus: they would help him, whatever the cost. The atmosphere in the hall lightened somewhat as they began to discuss possible solutions, a sense of purpose replacing their earlier despair.
It was Erik who suddenly sat up straight, his eyes widening with realization. The memory struck him like lightning, and he slapped his palm against the wooden table.
"Wait—didn't this same exact thing happen with August before?" he exclaimed.
The villagers fell silent once more, all eyes turning toward Erik. The realization dawned on their faces as Gel, Betty, Bren and August remembered. Indeed, August had once been in a similar state, hovering between life and death. And they had the very being who had saved him now living among them—the mythical beast that had become August's guardian.
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The Gathering
The following morning, with golden sunlight streaming through the bare branches of winter trees, August led a small group to the village center. His heart pounded in his chest as he prepared to call upon Aetherwing for assistance.
The snow crunched beneath their boots as they gathered in the open space, their breath forming clouds in the crisp air. Theressa, Betty, and Isabel stood beside Gel, whose eyes were rimmed with red from countless nights of weeping by her father's bedside. Erik Red, Christopher and Adam stood a few paces back, their faces solemn with anticipation.
August stepped forward, raised his face to the mountain side, and called out in a clear, ringing voice.
"Master! Can you spare us a moment of your time?"
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Aetherwing Answers
High above the village, atop a massive nest woven from trees, branches and lined with softer materials, Aetherwing perched in solitary majesty on the edges of their nest where his own family of four resides. The guardian beast's keen hearing caught the sound of his ward's voice, and he leaned over the edge of his nest to peer down at the gathering below.
Seeing August and the villagers assembled, the creature rose to his full, impressive height of 40 metere. His magnificent wings unfurled spanning 60 meters wide, catching the morning light and displaying iridescent feathers that shimmered with hues of blue, green and gold. He leapt from his perch and glided downward in a graceful spiral, the downdraft from his wings stirring the snow below into swirling eddies.
Within seconds, Aetherwing landed before them with a soft thud, folding his enormous wings against his sides. His ancient eyes, deep pools of wisdom that had witnessed the passing of countless seasons, regarded them with curiosity.
"Speak, lad," the beast rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. "Why have you all gathered here?"
August stepped forward, his posture respectful yet urgent. Behind him, Gel clutched Theressa's hand for support, her face a mask of desperate hope.
"Yes, Master, if you don't mind us asking," August began, his voice clear despite his nervousness, "do you perhaps know of a healing spell or something that can help wake an unconscious being?"
Aetherwing studied their anxious faces, noting the desperation in their eyes. He had sensed the dwindling life force from the man lying inside one of the rooms inside the house where his ward lived—a presence growing fainter with each passing day, like a candle flame about to be extinguished.
After a moment of contemplation, the beast replied, his voice measured and grave.
"I do possess such knowledge," he acknowledged, "but I do not know if he could withstand it as well you did, lad."
The creature's gaze was fixed on August, who had no memory of his own healing.
"You would have perished under my method, if not for the power that dwells inside you," Aetherwing continued. "You may have no knowledge of this, as you were unconscious yourself at that time, but I performed a similar healing upon you, and you survived."
The beast's wings shifted slightly, feathers rustling in the cold winter air.
"The power within you helped in that process, optimizing the risk by making me your Guardian Beast. But the man inside does not possess such a thing."
Aetherwing's expression softened as he continued, "I do not deny that he has remarkable willpower, perhaps even stronger than both you and Erik combined. To cling to life for so long in his deathly state, his subconscious must be fighting fiercely. It is a commendable effort, worthy of a thousand applause."
The beast's tone grew more somber as he reached the crux of the matter.
"I could certainly attempt to heal him with my method, but he will also face death in the process. It is a double-edged sword, a gamble that you must carefully consider. This is merely my suggestion; whether you take this chance or not is entirely your decision. Should you choose to proceed, I will do everything within my power to save him."
August fell silent, pondering the beast's words. It must have been his SYSTEM's interference that had saved him back then, he realized—a luxury that Uncle Jonathan did not possess. He turned to look at Gel, knowing that the decision ultimately rested with her.
"Gel," he said gently, "it's all on you now. You've heard the risks involved. Either way, we would surely lose Uncle Jonathan if we do nothing."
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A Young Girls Decision
Tears welled in Gel's eyes and spilled down her cheeks as the weight of the decision pressed upon her slender shoulders. She began to sob, her body shaking with frustration at her own powerlessness in the face of such an impossible choice.
The options before her were bleak: if she chose not to attempt Aetherwing's healing, her father would certainly die. If she chose to proceed, there remained a high probability that he would still perish. And yet, in the latter option, a small flame of hope flickered—the chance, however slim, that he might survive and open his eyes once more.
As she wrestled with her thoughts, Theressa, Betty, and Isabel gathered around her, offering what comfort they could. It was Theressa, who had known Jonathan the longest, who finally spoke, her voice gentle but firm.
"Oh, my dear, sweet, and brave girl," she said, brushing away a tear from Gel's cheek. "Hush now. Whatever you choose, your father would never blame you for it."
Theressa's weathered hand cupped Gel's face with maternal tenderness.
"I have known Jonathan for many years," she continued. "He was overjoyed when you were born—I've never seen a man so proud. He would leap with excitement and tell everyone about you, his eyes shining with love. Every day single day since you were born, he has proudly shared stories of your growth and accomplishments."
Her voice grew warmer as she added, "And he would be even prouder of you now, his joy and his pride. So do not worry, Angel. All of us will respect whatever decision you make in this matter."
Gel wiped her tears with the back of her hand and drew a deep breath. Her face transformed, fear giving way to determination. She had made her decision—she would cling to that small flame of hope, however fragile it might be.
"Gus," she said, her voice steady despite her red-rimmed eyes, "let's do it."
Her face reflected her resolve and conviction, the same stubborn determination that her father often displayed. August nodded, recognizing the strength in her decision, then turned to face his master.
"We will proceed with your methods, Master," he announced. "Please help Uncle Jonathan."
Aetherwing regarded them solemnly, noting their resolve. He inclined his magnificent head in acknowledgment. He would do everything in his power to ensure success.
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The SYSTEM Doing its Magic
[ SYSTEM: THE INTENTIONS OF THE HOST HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED. WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE YOUR GUARDIAN BEAST 'AETHERWING' THE DIRECT MEDIUM THAT WOULD HEAL THE ENTITY JONATHAN ROSS? DO YOU ACCEPT? {YES/NO}? ]
August startled as the familiar prompt from his SYSTEM appeared in his mind's eye. Once again, he was reminded of how vast and mysterious his SYSTEM's powers truly were, extending far beyond what he had previously imagined.
Without hesitation, he mentally responded:
{Yes}
In that instant, both August and Aetherwing began to glow with an otherworldly light. Golden and azure hues emanated from their bodies, bathing the snow-covered village center in their radiance. The villagers gasped, their eyes wide with wonder at the miraculous sight unfolding before them.
Only Erik and Gel remained unsurprised, having witnessed such phenomena before. They watched with hopeful anticipation as the light grew brighter.
Simultaneously, Aetherwing received his own prompt from the SYSTEM:
[ SYSTEM: YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED AS THE MEDIUM TO HEAL THE ENTITY JONATHAN ROSS. DO YOU ACCEPT? {YES/NO} ]
{Yes}
The familiar sensation washed over the guardian beast once more—a tingling energy that wrapped around his form like an embrace. Understanding his role, Aetherwing spread his wings and launched himself into the air, soaring toward the house where Jonathan lay.
He alighted upon the roof, his claws finding purchase on the wooden shingles. Closing his ancient eyes, he released a carefully measured portion of his life force and mana, directing it downward toward the unconscious man within.
The energy flowed from Aetherwing like a gentle stream, guided by the SYSTEM which optimized its healing properties while minimizing potential risks. The beast's form glowed even brighter as the process continued, illuminating the winter landscape in a surreal light that reflected off the snow in dazzling patterns.
...
...
...
Minutes passed in tense silence as the villagers watched the glowing roof. Then, simultaneously, both August and Aetherwing received another notification:
[ DING! THE OPERATION WAS A SUCCESS! JONATHAN ROSS WOULD SLOWLY REGAIN HIS CONSCIOUSNESS WITHIN AN HOUR. ]
August's heart leapt with joy at the message. He turned to the anxious group, his face breaking into a wide smile.
"It worked!" he exclaimed, rushing to Gel and taking her hands in his. "Gel, your father is going to live! We just need to wait an hour for him to regain consciousness."
His mind immediately turned to practical matters. "For now, we should prepare some food. I'm sure Uncle Jonathan will be famished and weakened after his ordeal!"
The tension that had gripped the villagers suddenly broke like ice in spring. Jubilant cries filled the air as they embraced one another, tears of relief streaming down many faces. Laughter mingled with sobs as the weight of worry lifted from their shoulders.
In their excitement, none questioned how August could be so certain of success. After witnessing the miraculous glow and the beast's intervention, they simply trusted his words.
They all looked up at Aetherwing, still perched on the roof, and bowed deeply in gratitude before hurrying back inside to prepare for Jonathan's awakening.
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Preparation
An hour passed with agonizing slowness as they waited. Theressa had prepared a nourishing porridge, light enough for Jonathan's weakened state but rich in nutrients to help restore his strength. She had added small pieces of tender meat, easy to chew and swallow, knowing that his body would need all the sustenance it could get after its long dormancy.
The aroma of the healing broth filled the house as they waited, each person finding small tasks to occupy their hands while their hearts remained focused on the room upstairs.
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Jonathan Awakens From Slumber
In the quiet room where Jonathan had lain unconscious for so long, the first signs of awakening began to show. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened as consciousness returned to him. The light from the window struck his sensitive eyes like a physical blow, temporarily blinding him.
With great effort, he raised an arm to shield his face from the assault of brightness. Every muscle in his body protested the movement, weakness and soreness making even this simple action a monumental task. A groan escaped his parched lips as he turned his head from side to side, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Gradually, his vision cleared enough for him to scan the room. He was alone, lying on a bed in what appeared to be one of the rooms they had built before his ... accident? Illness? The details eluded him, his memory foggy and disjointed.
Jonathan attempted to sit up, pushing against the mattress with trembling arms. His weakened muscles gave way beneath him, and he tumbled from the bed, landing hard on the cold wooden floor. The impact knocked what little breath he had from his lungs, and he lay gasping, sweat beading on his forehead from the exertion.
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A Reunion With Friends and Family
Downstairs, Gel was retrieving a bowl of the healing porridge when a loud thud from above startled everyone. Their eyes darted to the ceiling, and in a heartbeat, Gel dropped the ladle and raced toward the stairs, the others close behind.
She burst through the door, her heart pounding, and froze at the sight before her—her father, awake at last but sprawled helplessly on the floor beside the bed.
"Daddy!" she cried, rushing to his side.
The others flooded into the room behind her. Together, they gently lifted Jonathan back onto the bed, propping him up with pillows so he could sit upright.
His bleary eyes moved from face to face, taking in their expressions—a mixture of panic, relief, and overwhelming joy. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry, the words refusing to come.
Red stepped forward, a broad smile spreading across his weathered face as he clasped Jonathan's shoulder gently.
"Welcome back, big boss," he said warmly. "You are now finally back with us, the living."
The room filled with smiles and soft laughter. Several of the females wiped tears from their eyes, not bothering to hide their emotional relief. The moment was charged with a complex mixture of feelings—joy at Jonathan's recovery, relief that their ordeal was over, and a newfound appreciation for the fragility of life.
As they gathered around his bed, many found themselves contemplating their own mortality. What if it had been them lying there, hovering between life and death? Would they have fought so hard to return? And if they had died, what of those left behind? Who would weep for them, remember them, carry their memory forward?
These thoughts, though somber, only heightened their appreciation for the miracle they had witnessed—the return of one of their own from the brink of death.
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A Festive Mood
With great care, they carried Jonathan downstairs to the hearth, where warmth and food awaited. They settled him in a comfortable chair near the fire, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill that seemed to have settled deep in his bones.
As they gathered around the table, the atmosphere was festive. Gel sat beside her father, alternately taking small bites of her own meal and tenderly feeding him spoonfuls of the nourishing porridge. His hands still trembled too much to hold the spoon himself, but his eyes shone with gratitude and love as he looked at his daughter.
Conversation flowed freely around the table, each person sharing updates and stories to bring Jonathan up to speed on all that had transpired during his unconscious state. They spoke of the village's progress, of small triumphs and minor challenges overcome, of daily life continuing even as they had worried for him.
Laughter rang out frequently, a joyous counterpoint to the weeks of worry and fear they had endured. Outside, snowflakes began to fall softly, coating the world in a fresh blanket of white—nature's own celebration of renewal and hope.
As Jonathan slowly regained his strength with each spoonful of nourishment, surrounded by those who had refused to give up on him, he knew without a doubt that he had witnessed something extraordinary—a winter miracle indeed.