The morning started with a dull throb in the back of my head.
At first, I thought someone had clocked me again. Paul, Roxy, a bucket — around here, every other person's looking to leave a mark on my skull. But no. I'd just slept wrong. Pillow one way, neck the other, and my head somewhere in between.
I didn't want to move. Not just out of laziness... though that too. Mostly because my whole body was still living through yesterday. Literally. Shoulders ached. Ribs burned. My temple pulsed, like someone inside was still arguing whether it had been a good idea to even try it.
I stretched, carefully. Magic or not, I wasn't ready to lose my head over my own enthusiasm.
Same room, technically — but it felt different. Like the walls knew I was an idiot. And they watched me with this patient understanding.
I ran through the symbols in my head again. First. Second. Third. Still there. Faint, not flaring up, but holding steady. Like they were waiting, deep down in my mind, for the signal.
Exhale.
Magic... Every time feels like the first. And every time — like it might be the last. One day I slice my hand open, the next I blow up a bucket, almost tear my own head off.
"Instinctive mana flow."
Yeah, right. My instincts must belong to a suicide case.
It hurts, it's terrifying, it makes no sense — and somehow, every single time, I still want more. Like the mana inside won't let me go. Won't let me forget. It hasn't gone quiet. I can still feel it. Way down, like an itch under my skin. Not bursting out. But alive.
Waiting. Like a river pressing against a dam. No roaring, no raging — just pressure. Silent, steady. Waiting for even the tiniest crack. And once it finds it — it'll tear through. No warning.
Roxy was right.
First day I saw her — small, young face, staff almost as tall as she was. And the first thing that popped into my head: she ought to be the one looking for a teacher.
What could she even show me? Teach me? I honestly thought it was some kind of mistake. Like they'd mixed her up with a student.
Thinking back now — it's just embarrassing.
After the explosion, Zenith was on her almost immediately.
"We asked you to teach, not cripple him!"
In the end — Roxy took the heat. And I walked away in one piece.
Now I'm ashamed.
Not because they blamed the wrong person. But because she never even looked at me with reproach. Just kept working. Like... it was still worth it.
I need to get outside. Get some air.
***
Strike.
The blade sang. Air split with a sharp, whipping sound. A clean thrust — fast, crisp, faultless.
Strike.
Another. A smooth transition, then a finishing blow. Swift. Hard. But not perfect.
Lilia frowned.
Too slow. Too soft.
Father would be disappointed.
The thought slipped through before she could stop it, souring her mood in an instant.
Step.
Lilia pulled back, exhaling. The sword tip dipped slightly, but her fingers only tightened around the hilt.
Her body fell back into stance automatically. Muscles tensed. Something inside her demanded better.
Strike.
Lilia stopped. Her chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. Sweat dampened her forehead. Her heart beat calmly, without faltering. No fatigue. Which meant she could do more.
Her hand moved almost without thought, adjusting her glove.
Her gaze flicked over the blade. Flawless edge, polished to a mirror shine. Nothing to criticize. And still — something was wrong.
A memory surfaced — her father's cold stare, the brief nod. No praise. No reproach. He never said she was good. He just waited for her to stop being less than perfect.
Lilia exhaled. It didn't matter.
The sword flashed up again.
She shifted stance. Movements softened, flowing. Her style — the water school. In attack, it might seem passive. But in defense — untouchable.
A step forward, the blade carving a smooth arc. No sudden motions, only the flow — one strike melting into the next.
One, two, three.
Direction change.
The fourth strike came suddenly, almost lazily — but precise, like a needle to the vein.
Lilia moved as if carried by a current. No wasted movement. No stiffness. The water school's technique didn't resist force. It led it astray.
An imagined opponent lunged — she answered with a sidestep, a deflection, a counter.
One.
He missed.
Two.
The blade slipped past without touching her.
Three.
A lunge — her attack already landing where he had no defense.
Water doesn't clash with the sword. It guides it. Leaves it without footing. Forces the enemy to err. Father had said: the best defense makes attack meaningless.
Lilia halted.
She felt it — her breathing leveled out. Her body, at last, moved the way it should.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Sharp claps echoed from somewhere nearby.
"Aunt Lilia, you're amazing as always!"
A child's voice, bright and eager. A smile tugged at her lips — but she stopped it, restoring her usual composed expression.
"Master Rudeus," she said with a nod. "Off for your run?"
"Yeah. Don't usually catch you at practice."
Lilia rose early by habit. A short workout, just enough not to lose the form that had long since faded from its peak. Normally, when Rudeus stepped outside, she was already done, watching him leave.
Today, he'd woken sooner.
"I always train at this hour," she said, sheathing her sword. Her voice was calm, free of strain, as if the whole session had cost her nothing.
"You decided to head out earlier yourself? Or was it a restless night?"
Her gaze held no open curiosity — only a quiet observation. She wasn't one to ask needless questions. But she never let details pass unnoticed either.
"Ah... well..."
He hesitated, thinking about something, then shook his head sharply.
"Never mind. Lilia, if you're training... then..."
"Rudeus wishes to challenge me to a spar."
Not a question. A statement.
She already knew what he had in mind. Rudeus could be pensive and sometimes too quiet, but he never could hide his intentions.
"If it's convenient for you."
"As you wish."
She stepped aside, heading toward the rack where the training swords were kept.
Lilia chose one, tested its balance with the ease of habit, and returned to the sparring ground.
"Standard rules?" she asked, lifting her gaze to Rudeus.
He nodded, spinning the wooden sword in his hand, limbering up.
"Safe strikes, no magic, first clean hit wins."
The usual rules for sparring.
"Understood."
She slid into stance. Calm, relaxed, almost defenseless to the eye.
Rudeus was fast, sharp, strong. But he was direct. Lilia had no doubt he would strike first.
And he did. A straight thrust — predictable, but fast.
She stepped half a pace back, shifted her torso.
His sword sliced past, hitting nothing.
The current.
She nudged his motion aside with her blade, guiding it lightly as if giving it a push.
Rudeus tried to adjust, change the angle — but his weapon was already sliding wide of her.
Lilia pivoted smoothly.
Her blade rested against his neck, feather-light.
"Hit," she said calmly.
"Whoa!"
He stumbled back, caught himself, reset into his stance.
"That was... fast. Really fast. I've got a long way to go..."
"No need to be discouraged, Rudeus. At your age, I couldn't do half of what you can."
"Again!"
He braced his feet hard into the ground, sword raised high over his head — the classic stance every beginner learns before choosing their path forward.
Strike.
Click.
A twitch of his wrist. Planning a feint.
Lilia didn't move. Only her eyes shifted slightly, catching the motion at his wrist. She already knew.
A feint.
A sudden shift in the attack's direction, meant to catch her off guard.
Rudeus struck — and in the same instant, Lilia stepped aside. Half a step, a turn of her body. His sword again found nothing but air.
She didn't counterattack right away. Just watched.
Rudeus gritted his teeth, turning, breath already starting to hitch. Two failed strikes in a row.
"Again," he barked, raising his sword.
Lilia dipped her head slightly — accepting.
Click.
The next blow came fast, but she deflected it easily, nudging it aside — but Rudeus was ready this time. A sharp flick of his wrist, and the blade, which should have been diverted, suddenly snapped back toward her.
He's trying a False Strike.
The weakness of the standard school: too straightforward, too easy to read. Against a fighter with sharp eyes, tricks like that were useless — unless you had overwhelming strength or speed. And the boy clearly didn't.
Lilia didn't even blink.
Her sword was already in motion. But then —
Khh!
Pain lanced through her spine. Strength drained from her arm. Her swing faltered.
Click.
A light touch — Rudeus' blade brushed her thigh.
Silence.
"W-what!" Eyes wide, Rudeus just stood there, not knowing how to react. "Did I just..."
"Congratulations, Rudeus. That was an excellent strike."
The pain in her spine ebbed slightly. The old injury — always ready to remind her. A crooked smile touched her lips for a second, then vanished.
"But... Aunt Lilia, are you alright?"
He tilted his head slightly, concern plain on his face.
"It's nothing serious. You did very well."
"But still—"
"We all carry some kind of burden."
Lilia nodded lightly.
"And sometimes, it makes itself known."
Not a question. A simple fact.
"You haven't begun studying the advanced schools yet."
She said it plainly, already certain.
"I think it's time to tell Master Paul you're ready to move forward."
Her nod was firm, decisive.
Rudeus was talented. Far more than she had been at his age. Already, he had made serious strides along the path of the sword.
"Really? I thought that usually started at twelve."
"Correct. After a student proves their basics, they're invited to a sword school to learn the advanced forms. Usually around twelve."
"Then I should..."
"You should think carefully."
Her voice stayed calm, but there was a quiet weight in it.
"Master Paul is a skilled swordsman. Far more than he lets on. If you choose to keep learning here, he can teach you the foundations of the advanced styles."
Not an argument. Not persuasion. Just fact.
"And if... if I wanted to train at a real sword school?"
Lilia's gaze lingered for a moment. There was no hesitation in her eyes. No judgment. Only caution.
"Then you would have to choose."
She lowered her head slightly.
"At the sword schools, they demand everything. Every hour is training. Morning to night. There is no place for magic there."
"No place?"
"None," Lilia confirmed.
"The schools value the sword and the body above all. Magic is seen as a distraction. They don't forbid it outright — but you'll have no time. No strength left. No desire."
Her voice stayed soft. But it wasn't a warning. It was a truth she needed him to understand.
"Master Paul can train you well enough. Enough for the sword to become part of you — without losing the mage you already are."
She straightened.
"The choice is yours. But there's no need to rush. You're still too young to throw away one path for another."
Rudeus nodded. Too fast. Trying to hide how tangled his thoughts had become. Inside him, something vibrated — faint but real, like a string just struck.
And yet... something had shifted.
After the sparring. After her words. The silence between them wasn't just polite anymore. It had grown — thinner, but stronger. Like a bridge built out of something neither of them needed to name.
He looked up at her and, without knowing why, asked:
"Were you... were you and Paul acquainted before?"
Lilia lowered her chin slightly. Her face barely changed — only her eyes deepened, like water stirred by a stone.
"Yes. We... trained at the same sword school."
"Really? I never would've guessed."
"…"
She didn't answer right away.
The wind stirred her hair, brushed thin strands across her forehead.
"You've never talked much about your past..."
Rudeus said it carefully, almost unsure if he should.
Lilia smiled, faintly. A tired smile — the kind of smile worn by someone who had long since learned to leave parts of themselves behind.
"Sometimes," she said, "the past is better left where it belongs."
Rudeus flinched — startled at how sharply those words struck him.
He gave a crooked smile in return.
"Yeah... guess you're right."
They fell into silence again. But this silence was different. A kind of understanding had settled between them — quiet, certain. The knowledge that some things were better left unspoken. And that, too, was a bond.