Outside, the two walked along the academy’s immaculate grounds. The grass beneath their feet was cut so finely it looked like woven carpet, each step soft and even.

  Eryndor’s voice was calm, steady.

  “Everything you beheld was unequivocally real.”

  Mercy blinked, her voice trembling. “Everything? Everything, everything?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  She swallowed. “…Even that which befell Ziraiah?”

  “Yes.”

  Her lips pressed together. “I find myself at a loss for words. What transpired with you and Ziraiah… it was most difficult to witness.”

  Eryndor’s expression didn’t waver. “I have been apprised of what transpired.”

  “Apprised?” Her brows knit together. “You were present, Eryndor. She very nearly killed you.”

  “I was present in form only. My consciousness had departed—I had succumbed to mana exhaustion.”

  Mercy looked away, shaking her head. “It beggars belief that such beings truly exist. And yet you faced them head-on. How could you even…? Merely three years past, you had not so much as awakened your core.”

  His eyes glinted faintly.

  “You ought to know by now—I am an outlier. The strictures of common sense hold no dominion over me.”

  She let out a soft breath. “…Eryndor?”

  “Yes?”

  Her lips curved into a half-smile. “You’re an anomaly.”

  His reply was matter-of-fact.“I departed to pursue a means that might aid me in locating my brother. Who could have foreseen that God would orchestrate our reunion upon that island?”

  Her eyes widened. “…You found him.”

  “Yes.”

  He raised his hand. Frost shimmered, spreading across his palm. A plate of ice formed, and slowly, Valerius’s face was carved into it — sharp, cold, lifelike. Eryndor handed it to her.

  “This is he.”

  Mercy’s breath caught. “…This is he? I recognize him. He is the one who… who was dismembered.” Her voice gentled, eyes softening. “My condolences, Eryndor.”

  Eryndor replied.“Do not offer condolences, Mercy. My brother yet lives.”

  She blinked, disbelief flickering in her eyes. “What? What do you mean—he lives?”

  “He yet lives—and thrives. Every limb intact, every breath his own.” Eryndor replied smirking.

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How is that possible?”

  “Magic.” Eryndor said calmly.

  Her eyes narrowed, disbelieving. “What kind of magic is that?”

  Eryndor sighed faintly. “So many questions.”

  “You promised you would explain!” she pressed.

  “You persist in interrupting.”

  His tone was calm, not annoyed — as if lecturing a student. Mercy’s cheeks flushed, but she bit her tongue and let him speak. He told her what had happened, though not all — his words careful, precise, leaving out truths too heavy to share.

  When he finished, Mercy’s gaze softened. “I’m glad you’re reunited with your brother.”

  She stepped in front of him on the grass, tilting her head back to meet his towering frame. Her voice was earnest. “I want to meet him. Take me now.”

  Eryndor arched a brow. “Have you no academic obligations to attend to?”

  “We can do it later.” she said eagerly.

  A faint smile touched his lips. He lifted a hand and tapped her forehead lightly.

  Her body rose at once.

  “Wha—Eryndor?!” she yelped, arms flailing as she floated upward. “What’s happening?!”

  “You wished to see my brother,” he said evenly. “I will not traverse all the way to the entrance—nor will I squander hours upon the indignity of public transport.”

  She spun upside down in mid-air. “Stop it, Eryndor! Stop! I’m afraid of heights!”

  With a sigh, he flew up to her, catching her effortlessly. One arm slipped around her waist, steady and secure.

  “There,” he murmured. “I will hold you.”

  Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, face buried against his chest. “Don’t drop me.”

  “I will not.”

  He rose higher, the wind tugging at their hair. Mercy’s eyes stayed clenched shut, her breath rapid.

  “You might at least open your eyes,” Eryndor said softly, his tone measured. “Take in the view—such splendour is not meant to be ignored.”

  Below, the school’s towers and courtyards stretched like a painted miniature. As they neared the shimmering dome of the academy, Eryndor sent his thought forward like a command carried on the wind.

  Unbar the gate. I am swiftly approaching.

  The guard looked up, eyes widening as he caught sight of the figure descending from the sky with a girl in his arms. Without hesitation, the gates of mana swung open, parting to allow them passage.

  In a blink, they soared higher, piercing the skies above Heful.

  Mercy’s grip on him loosened as her curiosity overcame her fear. She dared to open her eyes. What she saw made her breath catch.

  “…Oh my god.”

  The city stretched beneath them, a jewel of stone and artistry. Towering spires of marble and carved granite pierced the sky, their rooftops tiled in shimmering hues of red and gold. Streets wound like veins of polished cobblestone, where ause-drawn carriages and cloaked nobles moved in careful rhythm.

  Bridges of carved stone arched gracefully over canals and market squares, each etched with intricate sigils and statues of saints, heroes, and kings long past. Banners in royal colors fluttered from high balconies, and the glint of wrought-iron gates marked the estates of noble houses. Maglev trains ran on floating rails. It was a city run by magic.

  Beyond the city walls, vineyards and gardens sprawled outward, green and orderly, while the mountains rose behind it all — ancient and immovable, framing the horizon like eternal guardians.

  Birds wheeled beside them, their wings beating in rhythm to the wind. Mercy laughed suddenly — free, startled, exhilarated — as they glided among the flock.

  Eryndor angled them lower, and soon the blue of the sea spread beneath them. Mercy stretched out a hand, her fingers skimming the surface. Cool water kissed her skin, ripples chasing their reflection across the waves.

  She glanced sideways. The reflection showed them both clearly — her hair streaming wild in the wind, his tall frame unshaken, eyes fixed forward. For a moment, her heart stirred. She smiled softly.

  They dipped low, slipping beneath a great stone bridge where shadows briefly cloaked them. With a subtle gesture, Eryndor cast Float upon her.

  Her body lightened, her weight vanishing until she drifted effortlessly at his side. He extended his hand, and she clasped it — their fingers linking as the spell steadied her.

  Now they flew together, side by side, her skirt fluttering, his cloak rippling like a banner in the wind.

  “This is… amazing, Eryndor,” Mercy breathed, wonder flooding her voice.

  His gaze remained on the horizon, but his tone carried quiet pride.

  “I am well aware. This stands among the most exquisite spells I have ever mastered.”

  The wind carried them onward, two figures cutting across the sky — an Elvhein and an Aurellian of wide-eyed wonder — as Heful’s seas glittered beneath them.

  ---

  The flight ended over rolling gardens of polished stone and emerald grass. Ahead, the estate loomed—broad terraces, carved columns, and banners that shimmered in the afternoon light.

  Mercy blinked, her eyes widening. She pointed.

  “Wait… that’s Pungence’s estate. Surely you don’t mean to tell me you reside there?”

  Eryndor’s descent slowed into measured grace. His tone was calm, matter-of-fact.

  “Yes. I do.”

  Her brows shot up. “What? Why did you never tell me? And what is your relation to him? Is he your father? You share the same eyes.”

  Eryndor’s emerald gaze flicked toward her, cool as polished glass.

  “No. He is not. Pungence delivered us from death… and granted us his shelter.”

  Mercy’s voice softened, though curiosity still lingered. “I always found your stature peculiar. But if you share a connection with Pungence… it becomes clear. I have never seen anyone of such magnitude, save him. And then there is your growth… your aptitude for magic. None of it is ordinary.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Her words trailed as she caught sight of movement below.

  In the courtyard, Valerius stood over a table, shards glittering at his feet. Another glass slipped in his hand, cracked, and broke with a sharp snap. His jaw tightened in frustration.

  Eryndor landed lightly on the grass, placing Mercy gently on her feet. Valerius turned at once, his green eyes narrowing.

  “You said you’d tell me how you hold things,” he muttered.

  Eryndor arched a brow. “Good afternoon to you as well.”

  He gestured with one hand. “Mercy, allow me the pleasure of introducing my younger brother—Valerius.”

  Valerius pivoted fully, scanning her with a curious tilt of his head. “Oooh. Who’s this?”

  He took a step closer, but Eryndor’s arm shot out like a wall, barring him.

  “Maintain your distance. In your current state, you are far too unstable.”

  Valerius scoffed. “Dude, I know I’m not supposed to touch people.”

  Mercy extended her hand politely, her smile warm. “It’s nice to meet you, Valerius.”

  Valerius’s gaze lingered on her hand… then flicked up to Eryndor.

  Eryndor shook his head once. “He does not partake in handshakes.”

  Then, smoothly: “She desired an audience with you.”

  Valerius blinked, suspicious. “Really? Why?”

  “I confess, I was most eager to finally meet Eryndor’s brother.” Mercy admitted.

  Valerius’s eyes darted between her and Eryndor. Once. Twice. Again. Then a slow grin tugged at his lips. His emerald eyes gleamed with mischief.

  “…Is she your girlfriend, Eryndor?”

  Mercy flushed scarlet. “Wh—what?! How can you even suggest such a thing? We are merely friends, nothing more! There is absolutely nothing between us!” She spoke too quickly, tripping over her own words.

  Valerius arched a brow, smirk deepening. So this is Mercy, he thought. I must say, Eryndor… you’ve got good taste.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, feigning innocence. “Yes, of course.”

  Mercy’s eyes flicked back to him, studying.

  “I confess, I imagined you would be… taller. Are you not older than Ziraiah?”

  Valerius’s grin faded into a steady glare. “Trust me. I will be.”

  Mercy circled him slowly, her sharp eyes examining him with unmasked curiosity.

  “How did you manage it? I saw your arm torn away. Was it a healer who restored it? Surely not—I don't think any healer alive could replace an entire limb. And healing elixirs… they do not regenerate bone.”

  Valerius glanced sidelong at Eryndor, his smirk returning. “…Is she always this inquisitive?”

  Eryndor’s voice was calm, but edged with steel.

  “Yes.”

  Valerius folded his arms, his grin sly. “And what makes you think I owe you an explanation? Why don’t you ask Eryndor over there? He lost a hand too.”

  Eryndor’s gaze cut toward him, and a voice pressed directly into Valerius’s mind.

  I had thought that three years would suffice for you to master restraint—and yet, your unbridled tongue remains as incorrigible as ever.

  Valerius winced. “…Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

  Mercy blinked, looking up at Eryndor in shock. “You lost your hand?”

  Without hesitation, she stepped closer, gently taking his hands into her own. “Which one was it?”

  Eryndor glanced at Valerius, who had the decency to look away. Mercy turned his hands over, studying them, frowning.

  “They appear perfectly intact fine.”

  “As I have already articulated,” Eryndor replied evenly, “we are… touched by peculiarities beyond common comprehension.”

  She released him, her expression tightening with frustration. “When will you cease cloaking everything in vagueness? Must you always speak in riddles?”

  Eryndor didn’t respond. Instead, he turned toward the towering door.

  “Come with me.”

  Mercy glanced at the massive frame and muttered, half to herself, “A door fashioned for giants…” Still, she followed him inside.

  Eryndor gestured toward the long couch.

  “Please—be seated. I shall attend to you shortly.”

  He crossed back to Valerius, who still stood by the table of shattered glass. Picking up a fresh cup, Eryndor held it effortlessly.

  “We exert dominion over our corporeal vessels in ways you scarcely apprehend. In my estimation, the body responds with greater alacrity to necessity than to mere desire.” He placed the glass upon the table with fastidious precision. “Persuade yourself that you are compelled to hold it without fracturing it. Conjoin that conviction with the discipline Pungence imparted, and you too shall manage even the most delicate object—irrespective of its fragility.”

  Valerius blinked. “…That’s it?”

  Eryndor’s lips curved faintly. “Indeed.”

  With that, he turned and strode back inside.

  Valerius frowned, staring down at the glass. A need, not a want. I have to do this. I need to do this.

  He placed his hand just above the rim, not touching, then closed his eyes and exhaled. Slowly, carefully, his fingers curled around the glass. His hand trembled, vibrating with restraint.

  When he opened his eyes, the glass was still whole.

  A stunned silence. Then his mouth twitched—he laughed. First softly, then louder, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

  CRACK.

  The smile died. He froze, staring at the spiderweb fracture spreading across the surface.

  “…Hey, Eryndor,” he called, still holding the glass. “I finally did it!”

  SHATTER.

  The pieces rained to the floor. Valerius closed his eyes. “…Fuck.”

  ---

  The Living Room

  Eryndor sat across from Mercy, his presence calm and steady.

  Mercy tilted her head, brows knit. “Is he a Non-Gifted? I feel no mana from him.”

  Eryndor’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew better than to speak of Bravo. His reply was smooth, final. “He is not.”

  At that moment, the door opened. Valerius stepped in—intact, unbothered.

  Eryndor smirked faintly. “Oh. You managed not to rend the door from its hinges. Congratulations.”

  Mercy blinked. “He usually rips off the door?”

  “Yes,” Eryndor replied simply.

  Valerius ignored them, flopping onto the seat beside Mercy. “So, Mercy… how did you meet Eryndor?”

  Her lips curved. “During enchantment class. I was struggling with a set of boots. He noticed… and offered to help.”

  Valerius tilted his head. “Enchant? Wait—doesn’t the training room have enchantments?”

  “Yes,” Eryndor replied.

  Valerius pointed at Mercy. “So it’s people like you who do all that, huh?” He turned to his brother. “S… if you were in the same class, does that mean you can enchant too?”

  Eryndor inclined his head once.

  Mercy smiled. “Eryndor is capable of nearly everything—save for the art of healing magic.”

  Valerius leaned forward, curious. “What’s enchanting anyway?”

  “Imbuing magical properties into ordinary objects,” Mercy explained patiently.

  Valerius’s eyes lit. “I wanna see it.”

  She blinked. “Do you have something I can use?”

  Valerius looked around, spotted an empty bottle on the table, and handed it over. “Here.”

  Mercy whispered an incantation under her breath. The bottle glowed faintly, then dimmed again. She handed it back.

  “Each time you pour water into this, it will chill instantly.”

  Valerius narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “…Is that how the fridges are made?”

  Eryndor nodded silently.

  Valerius held the bottle up, unimpressed. “It’s not even cold.”

  “Put your finger inside,” Mercy urged.

  He did. His eyes widened slightly. “…Ooh. It is cold.” He pulled his finger out, shaking it. “Does it wear off?”

  “It depends on the enchanter’s level,” she said with a small smile.

  Valerius grinned faintly, twirling the bottle in his hand. “Huh. Not bad.”

  ---

  To Be Continued...