{Author's Note:
Please don't ask why I skipped Mike's childhood journey. Honestly, I found it boring and didn't want to waste your time with slow-paced chapters. I want to shift the story into a more intense, mature, and sensual direction—so from this point on, the real heat begins.}
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She stepped forward, arms wrapped around herself. "You could wait. Research more. Ask Elira for help. You're not alone."
Leon carefully closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"The cursed book chose Mike," he said, his voice steady but low. "And if I don't do this now… it'll be too late. You saw the marks on his arm. The whispers when he sleeps."
Selene's eyes trembled. "And what if you never come back?"
Leon finally turned to her, gently cupping her face with his calloused hand.
"Then tell Mike…" He paused, eyes softening. "Tell him I went to protect his tomorrow. And tell him not to cry for me."
Tears welled in Selene's eyes, but she forced a smile. "You better return. I'll make your favorite stew. And I swear I'll burn it if you're late."
Leon chuckled softly. "Then I have no choice, do I?"
She kissed him, long and quiet, the kind of kiss shared by two people who knew time was against them.
Then, without another word, Leon turned and stepped out of the study, down the marble hallway, and toward the main door.
As Leon stepped outside, the cold breeze of dusk greeted him.
A new path had begun.
And with it, the shadows stirred.
---
The sun was high when the garden gates creaked open. Mike entered the manor, his robes dusted with fresh grass and wildflower pollen. Master Elira walked beside him, her staff resting lightly against her shoulder.
Inside the quiet home, Mike looked around—his eyes scanning the hall.
"Where's Dad?" he asked, tilting his head. "Mom, where is Dad?"
Selene stood by the stairs, gracefully sipping from a porcelain cup. Her expression softened, though her smile masked something deeper.
"Oh darling," she began, walking toward him, "your father left early this morning."
"Again?" Mike frowned.
Selene crouched down, gently brushing back a lock of his hair. "Yes, he's on an important journey. He heard about a lost relic—one that might help protect you from the curse in your book. He didn't want to worry you, so he left quietly."
Mike's eyes sparkled. "He's really doing that… for me?"
She nodded, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "He loves you more than anything, sweetheart. One day, you'll understand."
Mike smiled softly. "Okay… I'll keep studying hard."
And he did.
For twelve long years, Mike trained under Master Elira's stern yet kind guidance. Every chant, every symbol, every failed spell that singed his hair—he endured it all.
Now, at seventeen, he had mastered:
1. Wind Whisper (Wind-Type Chant)
Chant: "Sylpha venare, aera flos!"
A small gust formed around her fingertips, dancing like a soft breeze.
2. Ember Spark (Fire-Type Chant)
Chant: "Ignis luce, flare in pace."
She extended a finger, and a small orb of flame hovered just above her palm, flickering gently.
3. Aqua Thread (Water-Type Chant)
Chant: "Undina lirien, aqua weave."
From her other hand, water condensed from the air, twisting into a silvery-blue string.
4. Mana Sense (Support-Type Chant)
Chant: "Manare visum, lux intus."
She tapped her forehead, and suddenly her eyes glowed faintly blue.
5. Healing Light – His most recent and emotional achievement. With this magic, Mike could mend cuts, soothe burns, and calm pain—though it consumed much of his mana.
He had developed Healing Magic after seeing a wounded bird trembling outside his window one rainy night. That evening, under Elira's guidance, he channeled his warmth—not just mana—and watched in awe as golden threads stitched life back into the creature.
"This magic is different," Elira had told him. "It requires more heart than power. To heal… you must care."
Their final class ended as the wind picked up. Elira took him for one last ride—on horseback through the familiar golden fields.
Eventually, they reached that tree—the one taller than the manor itself, with leaves that whispered like old friends.
They tied the horses and sat beneath it.
"Twelve years," Elira whispered.
Mike smiled faintly. "Feels like yesterday you scolded me for turning the kitchen curtains into fire dust."
They both laughed, the memory sweet and distant.
"You were my first student," she said. "And my greatest joy."
Mike looked down. "But… why is this your last day?"
"Because you're ready," she replied, her voice soft.
He hugged her tight, burying his face into her cloak. "I'll miss you, Master…"
After the warmth of their goodbye, Elira stepped back and said, "I have something for you."
From within her robes, she pulled a wand—sleek, enchanted, and etched with ancient runes. "Every teacher gifts a wand when their student completes their training."
Mike's eyes glistened as he took it. "It's beautiful."
"But that's not all," she said, raising her staff.
The skies darkened.
Clouds twisted above.
The wind roared. Rain lashed the earth. A thunderbolt crashed down, tearing open a massive crater in the field.
Mike gasped. "That was amazing! Let me try!"
"No!" Elira's tone turned sharp. "Your mana is too low. That's Level 2 advanced magic. Use it now and your life may be in danger."
"Then why haven't you taught me Level 2?"
She paused. "Because I can't. You must join the Magic Academy. Only there can you grow further, learn to control this power… and learn how to replenish your mana through the soul."
They rode home in silence.
After dinner, Mike sat alone in his room—wand resting on his desk, his hand glowing faintly with golden light as he practiced Healing Magic on a cut across his palm.
"I'll keep getting better," he murmured. "For Dad… for Master… and for me."
The next morning, Mike ran downstairs.
"Althea!" he called. "Where's Master Elira?"
Althea glanced up, her voice quiet. "She left early. Packed her things."
"Where'd she go?"
"I don't know," she said softly. "She didn't say goodbye to me either."
Mike stood still.
The house was full—but somehow, felt empty.