Forcibly squeezing out light to heal himself couldn't truly make the young boy recover, because he wasn't strong enough, but it allowed him to live just a bit longer, to fight a little while more to protect those important to him.
He just wanted to protect his family for a little while longer.
It's that simple.
The young boy's life was gradually weakening, yet his belief was being tempered to become ever more resilient in the face of dying.
He picked up the bandit's dagger from the ground, wiped off the blood from the blade, and with legs that had just healed but were still painfully powerless, he barely managed to support himself and slowly moved to the door, pressing his back tightly against the cold earthen wall, his movements slow.
