Chapter 34 – A Mother's Words
After their heartfelt embrace, Adrian and Maria stepped back into the orphanage. The familiar wooden floors creaked softly beneath their feet, and the walls, once silent witnesses of so many shared moments, seemed to breathe with warmth once more. The atmosphere had shifted—lighter, almost serene—as though the very building recognized Adrian's return.
They walked slowly down the hallway, neither in a rush, their steps synchronized by shared memories. As they entered the living room, the afternoon sunlight spilled through the window, casting a golden hue over the worn but welcoming furniture. They sat across from each other, Maria in her favorite armchair, Adrian on the cushioned bench by the window. The silence between them was not awkward—it was filled with something sacred. Presence. Connection. A yearning finally fulfilled.
Adrian took a deep breath, the weight of everything he had carried pressing on his chest.
"There's so much I need to tell you…"
And so, he spoke. He poured out his story like a dam finally released—his voice trembling, sometimes halting, but always honest. He told her about the diary, the divine domain, the trials, the visions, and the soul-deep battle he had fought to uncover his legacy. He spoke of Cordelia, of near-death moments, and discoveries that reshaped his understanding of the world and himself.
Maria listened in silence, not once interrupting. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair tightly, knuckles whitening with every dangerous detail. But she let him speak to the end.
When Adrian finished, the room remained still for a moment. Maria's eyes were wide, her lips parted in disbelief. Her face reflected a storm of emotions—relief, heartbreak, fury, and pride, all battling for dominance.
"Adrian…" she began, her tone sharp yet trembling. "You should've told me. That was way too dangerous! You could've died in there!"
Adrian lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Director… I didn't want to worry anyone."
Maria crossed her arms tightly over her chest. Her brows furrowed as she exhaled through her nose, the kind of breath she only took when deeply disappointed.
"How could we not worry?" she snapped, her voice rising just enough to echo. "We're a family. I care about you, about Lia, Theo, and Noah. It's not just duty—it's love."
Adrian looked up at her face, noticing for the first time how tired she truly looked. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the dark circles beneath them—she had been carrying the weight of the orphanage and its children alone for so long. A pang of guilt hit him like a blow to the chest.
"I'm really sorry," he murmured again.
Maria's features softened. She exhaled once more, slower this time, and reached across the small table. Her hand brushed his hair with that familiar tenderness only a mother figure could give.
"You came back home," she whispered. "That's all I could've wished for."
A gentle smile spread across her lips, filled with both forgiveness and love. Before either of them could say more, the silence was shattered.
"FOOOOD!" came the booming voice of Theo, who barreled into the room like a tornado, with Noah stumbling behind him. "I'm starving!"
Maria burst into laughter and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.
"I'm coming, you little rascals!"
She disappeared into the kitchen. Soon the smell of warm bread, spices, and stewed vegetables filled the air. Laughter and footsteps echoed through the house as everyone gathered around the dining table. Dishes clinked, glasses filled, and the warmth of home settled back into every corner of the room.
Adrian, sensing the perfect moment, began retelling his adventures. This time, his voice was animated, playful—he exaggerated some parts just to hear Theo laugh louder or watch Noah's eyes widen in wonder. Even Lia, quiet as always, leaned in a little closer, her curiosity shining through.
When the last bite was eaten and the plates were cleared, Adrian excused himself and headed upstairs. The house felt quiet again, but a comforting kind of quiet—the kind that wraps around you like a blanket.
In his room, he sat on his bed and slowly opened his backpack. From within, he pulled out the old diary—his mother's legacy. The cover was worn but intact, the faded edges smoothed from years of handling. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the history etched into every thread.
"This is where it all started…" he whispered. "What else do you have to show me, Mom?"
He opened the diary.
Nothing.
The pages were blank, just like before. No signs, no clues.
Frustrated, Adrian furrowed his brow and stared. But then, a thought struck him like lightning.
"Maybe if I try this…"
He closed his eyes and reached inward, tapping into the divine energy he had learned to control. Slowly, deliberately, he let it flow into the diary.
A spark ignited.
The diary began to glow, softly at first, then with radiant intensity. The pages flipped rapidly as golden letters began appearing—lines and lines of delicate script, as if an invisible pen was writing them in real time. The light wrapped around him like a cocoon, and then, out of the silence, came a voice.
Gentle. Familiar. Undeniably hers.
His mother's voice.
> "My son…
> If you're reading this, it means you've received the inheritance. As your mother, I'm so happy… but also deeply worried. The path ahead is full of dangers.
> Even if your father and I are no longer with you, we'll always be supporting you—in every choice, in every step.
> Now that you're a Heir, you must know: not everyone who receives an inheritance is good like you.
> When evil people—murderers, criminals, sinners—die, their souls are dragged to the infernal plane. There, they receive inheritances from demons and dark gods.
> The greater their sins… the more powerful the malevolent spirit they inherit.
> These infernal heirs don't give up. They try to return to our world… to spread death and destruction.
> That's all I know.
> Live well, my son.
> And never forget: we love you very much."
As the voice faded, the golden light dimmed and the diary closed by itself. The room was silent again, but something within Adrian had changed. He held the diary tightly against his chest, tears welling in his eyes—not just of sorrow, but of peace.
With a voice barely louder than a breath, he whispered,
"Don't worry… I'll live well."
And this time, he meant every word.
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