The next day, Valerius and Eliana sat together on a public bench. The sun was warm, children’s laughter drifted through the square, and in their hands—small delights—ice cream cones.

  Valerius took a slow lick, eyes narrowing at the treat.

  “I can’t believe there’s ice cream here. How’d they even make it?”

  Eliana chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Did you forget? This is a world full of magic.”

  Valerius blinked, then shrugged. “…Oh. Right.”

  He studied the cone again, flexing his hand slightly.

  “Can’t believe I have to fortify this just to hold it.”

  Her smile softened. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it soon enough.”

  A group of children darted past them, their laughter ringing out as they chased one another across the square. Valerius’s eyes followed them, his expression shifting—focused, contemplative.

  “What are you thinking about?” Eliana asked.

  Valerius’s gaze didn’t move from the children.

  “How old do you think those kids are?”

  She tilted her head. “…Ten? Eleven, maybe.”

  “They’re way bigger than I was at that age,” Valerius muttered. “And considering how big my mom is, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “You’re right,” Eliana admitted, her brows knitting. “It doesn’t. You were very small… even three years ago.”

  Valerius licked his ice cream thoughtfully.

  “I’ve seen my baby photos. I wasn’t even as big as Zelion. And if Zelion’s the standard—and he’s Aurellian—then from looking at Eryndor and Pungence, an Elvhein baby should be a lot bigger than that. But us? We were just like—”

  Eliana finished the thought for him. “—like Earthers?”

  “Humans,” Valerius corrected automatically.

  He took another bite, then leaned back, his tone quieter, heavier.

  “You know what I think? I think she did something to us. To make us smaller. So we could blend in.”

  Eliana’s eyes softened. “…You can ask her when you see her again. Maybe she used magic.”

  Valerius said nothing, but the way his jaw tightened made it clear he was turning the thought over and over.

  ---

  Pungence Estate— Heful

  Sunlight poured through wide glass windows, flooding a chamber in gold. Yet Eryndor still lay sprawled across his bed, one arm folded over his eyes. The room was silent save for the faint rustle of curtains.

  Then—trill.

  His strek chimed on the nightstand. Without opening his eyes, he stretched out his hand, grabbed the device, and pulled it lazily to his mouth.

  “Speak,” he said, his voice calm, low, almost bored.

  A sharp female voice answered at once.

  “Why did you not tell me you had returned? You didn’t so much as send word. And then, to make matters worse, I see you on a Seer-cast—hurling some outrageous spell without the slightest explanation!”

  Eryndor’s emerald eyes opened halfway, a sliver of light catching them.

  The voice continued, exasperated. “I scarcely wish to believe what I witnessed. Was it truly real… or merely some contrived performance?”

  “Mercy…” Eryndor murmured.

  “Yes!” she snapped. “I was told by Alvin that you had returned. Why did you not inform me yourself? And why, pray, have you not yet resumed your studies?”

  Eryndor exhaled slowly, a faint smirk tugging his lips. His tone was cool, deliberate, almost indulgent.

  “Mercy, my dear… your inquisitiveness knows no restraint.”

  With a snap of his fingers, water burst from the showerhead, hissing in steady rhythm. Eryndor rose from the bed, walked to the bathroom and placed his strek on a shelf.

  “I shall elucidate matters in due course,” he said evenly, his voice imbued with quiet finality.

  Clothes slipped from his frame as he stepped into the steam, the water cascading over him in sheets.

  ---

  Far away, in the tertiary girls’ dormitory of Festitude Academy, Mercy lay sprawled across her bed on her stomach, her feet kicking lazily in the air. Sunlight poured through the curtains, catching in her light-brown hair. Her bright gray eyes fixed on the strek in her hand.

  “When, then, do you intend to return to school?” she asked, idly twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

  Eryndor’s voice came calmly over the line, muffled by the flow of water.

  “You shall behold me today.”

  Her lips curved in relief. “Good. You promised you would assist me—our examinations are swiftly approaching. Or has that already slipped your mind?”

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  Under the shower, Eryndor allowed himself the faintest smile.

  “I do not forget.”

  Mercy paused, brow furrowing. “What is that sound I hear?”

  “The sound of flowing water,” Eryndor replied, his tone as smooth as the stream itself, “as I cleanse myself.”

  She rolled her eyes playfully but pressed on, her tone softening.

  “I witnessed the battles, Eryndor—the devastation you wrought. Tell me truly, was it real? Or merely some elaborate Seer-cast illusion?”

  Eryndor ran his palms back through his wet hair, water streaming down the curve of his jaw. His fingers drifted to the green birthmark etched into his lower belly — identical to Valerius’s. For a moment, his gaze lingered there.

  “We shall discourse upon it when next we meet.”

  Mercy bit her lip. “…You have been absent from a great many lessons, you realize. Tell me—have you at least kept up with your studies for the examination?”

  Eryndor reached out, turned the shower’s brass knob, and silenced the stream. His voice was calm, unyielding.

  “Have you so soon forgotten who I am?”

  There was a pause, then Mercy laughed, soft and fond. “See you soon.”

  The strek dimmed as the call ended.

  ---

  Steam curled against the mirror. Eryndor studied his reflection — tall, composed, droplets running down his frame. Then, slowly, the water on his skin began to evaporate into mist, vanishing until his body was bone-dry. His eyes caught on something new beneath his chin. A single strand of beard.

  His lips curved into a faint smile. “Finally.”

  ---

  He strode into his chamber, lifting a hand. At once, the wardrobe doors flung open. Clothes poured out, dozens of immaculate garments swirling into the air. They revolved around him like planets orbiting a sun.

  Eryndor extended a hand. A bottle of perfume leapt from the shelf, landing neatly in his palm. He sprayed once, the crisp scent settling into the air.

  Then, weightless, he rose into the air.

  One by one, the garments came to him. A shirt slid onto his shoulders, buttons fastening themselves in a perfect line. Trousers wrapped around his legs, the zipper rising with precision. Polished shoes slipped beneath his feet, laces tying themselves into flawless knots. A belt snaked around his waist, locking snug.

  He descended slowly, his body settling into his clothes as though he had been sculpted into them.

  ---

  The door opened.

  Andrea reclined lazily on the sofa, one arm propped against her head. Eryndor moved with his usual composure, each step measured, his presence quiet but commanding.

  “Good morning, Aunt Ann,” he greeted.

  Andrea peeked at him over the edge of her book, one brow lifting. “It’s afternoon, Eryndor.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Apologies. Good afternoon.”

  He turned toward the entrance. “I am departing for school.”

  Andrea sat up faintly. “I was wondering when you’d resume. This is your last year, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he replied without hesitation, his voice precise and unyielding. “The penultimate.”

  He glanced back once. “Where is Valerius?”

  Andrea set her book down. “He and Eliana went out.”

  A rare smile flickered across Eryndor’s lips. “I see.”

  He opened the door. Warm sunlight spilled in. Looking skyward, he rose smoothly into the air, his cloak brushing against his frame. Then, he ascended higher, higher—until he shot into the sky, flying toward Festitude Academy.

  ---

  As Eryndor approached the ivory spires of Festitude Academy, he descended gracefully. A shimmering dome stretched over the entire compound, its surface faintly rippling — the magical shield that protected the students within.

  The gatekeeper, clad in bronze uniform, straightened immediately.

  “Ah — hello, Eryndor.”

  Eryndor inclined his head, his voice calm. “Good afternoon.”

  With reverence, the guard unlatched the gate. Eryndor stepped through, then rose once more into the air, gliding past the manicured lawns and towers until he reached the primary section.

  Below, dozens of children played, their laughter carrying across the courtyards. When they saw him descending, shouts broke out — “Look! He’s flying!” Tiny hands pointed, eyes wide with awe.

  Eryndor landed lightly, the ground whispering beneath his weight. At once, a boy of ten — tall already at 6’7, brown-haired, with the sturdy build of one recently awakened — darted forward. His small arms wrapped tight around Eryndor’s leg.

  “Eryndor!”

  Eryndor smiled faintly, kneeling on one knee. Even crouched, he still loomed over the boy. His voice softened, carrying a mentor’s weight.

  “Tell me—have you diligently rehearsed the incantation I imparted to you?”

  The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes! Look, look!”

  He thrust out his palm, brow furrowed.

  “Aqua, Cintra, Siferi Amon!”

  With effort, a thin stream of water trickled from his hand, spilling like a leaky tap. It dribbled forward — barely ten centimeters.

  The boy’s face tightened in frustration. “Hmmm… hnnn…”

  Eryndor’s lips curved in a faint, approving smile. “Commendable. You have at last succeeded in invoking your first spell. Now—” he extended a single finger toward a wall some twenty meters distant, “—your subsequent task is to project your craft to that range.”

  The boy’s jaw dropped. “Whaaaat? That’s impossible!” He pouted, grumbling under his breath.

  Eryndor’s gaze sharpened, but his tone remained steady. “Harbor no doubt within yourself. Resolve begets fruition. If you anchor your mind immovably upon the task, success shall inexorably follow.”

  To demonstrate, Eryndor lifted his hand. Without a word, water surged from his fingertip in a perfect stream, striking the wall with a crisp splash.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “H-how?! You didn’t even chant!”

  “I have no necessity to attempt it,” Eryndor said simply, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “But such a feat lies far beyond your present capacity, Justin.”

  “Wait… you can cast without chanting?”

  Eryndor stood, towering tall once more, his cloak stirring in the breeze. “Indeed. But that lesson comes later. For now, persist in your practice. Remember—diligence invariably yields its recompense.”

  He rose into the air and flew away.

  “See you later, Eryndor!” Justin called, waving both arms.

  ---

  Eryndor flew straight toward the tertiary section. The high spires gleamed under the sun as he descended before the dormitories.

  A knock sounded on Mercy’s door.

  When it opened, she stood framed in the light — tall at 9’3, her light-brown hair brushing her shoulders, eyes sharp with warmth and curiosity.

  She blinked at him. “My, you arrived with remarkable swiftness.”

  “I flew,” Eryndor answered simply, bowing his head slightly to pass through the doorway.

  He seated himself with composed ease, extending a hand. Frost blossomed in his palm, shaping into a crystal goblet. The air shimmered as water condensed and poured neatly into it. He took a sip.

  Mercy folded her arms, watching him. “Truly, only you would wield magic as though it were the most casual of trifles.”

  Eryndor crossed one leg over the other, posture regal, expression unshaken. “And what discipline shall we turn our attention to today?”

  Her lips curved. “Ah, ah—let us not rush ahead. You must first tell me what transpired.” She perched on her bed, leaning forward with intent. “I am listening.”

  His green eyes lingered on her, steady as stone. Then he rose, walking to the door with the weight of inevitability.

  “Attire yourself suitably. We are going for a walk. I shall elucidate matters along the way. I shall await you outside.”

  He stepped outside and waited.

  Minutes later, Mercy emerged in a simple skirt, her expression playfully accusatory.

  “Alvin mentioned you attended a gathering at the beach. And yet… I received no invitation. I must confess, Eryndor, I am rather wounded by the slight.”

  He said nothing, his eyes on the horizon.

  She huffed, crossing her arms.

  “…You’re not even going to defend yourself, Eryndor?”

  At last, he turned his gaze on her, his voice smooth but edged.

  “I possess no defense to proffer.”

  ---

  To Be Continued…