The morning sun crept gently across the mountaintop, turning the frost-covered trees into golden spires. Mist clung low to the earth, curling between stones and wood like silent spirits. Kyota sat perched on the edge of the old rooftop, one leg dangling off, the other pulled close to his chest. His eyes wandered across the horizon, where the world felt wide, yet quiet.
Behind him, a soft yawn broke the silence. Yuki climbed up, rubbing her eyes, her long hair slightly messy from sleep.
"You always come up here?" she asked, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat beside him.
"Only when I want to feel like a mysterious loner from a sad novel."
She snorted. "You are the least mysterious person I've ever met."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Kyota smirked.
Down below in the garden, the wizard sat with a chipped teacup in his weathered hands. Steam rose from it, swirling like threads of memory. His eyes, half-lidded, drifted toward the sky. He looked fragile today, smaller than usual—like the years had caught up all at once.
Kyota leaned forward and shouted, "Hey, old man! You gonna live long enough to see us graduate from the Northern Academy?"
The wizard didn't even flinch. "Only if you stop fighting like a drunk squirrel."
Yuki burst into laughter. Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. But a real, joyful laugh bubbled out of her chest and caught even her by surprise.
Kyota blinked. "Wasn't even that funny."
"No," she said, still wiping tears from her eyes. "But… it felt normal. Like we're just kids."
Kyota tilted his head. "You don't get that often, do you?"
She shook her head slowly.
They sat in silence for a while before Kyota asked, "What about your parents? You never talk about them."
Yuki's smile faltered. The warmth of the moment faded into a cold breeze. She stared at her hands.
"I don't remember them," she admitted. "Not even their faces."
The wizard, now standing beneath the eaves, looked up at them.
"Come down," he said. "You should hear the truth."
They sat around the fire in the main hall, the flames painting flickering shadows on the wooden beams. The wizard stared into the fire as if reading a memory etched into the coals.
"You were six months old when I found you," he began softly. "In the woods. Wrapped in a scorched blanket, crying beside a pile of ash."
Kyota leaned forward, brows furrowed. "Ash?"
"There'd been a caravan. Horse-drawn. Elegant. Royal, maybe. But it was burned—utterly destroyed. I followed the smoke and found it too late. Everything was charred: wood, steel, bones… and blood."
Yuki's lips trembled, but she stayed silent.
"I thought you were gone too," the wizard continued. "But then I heard a sound. A cry—hoarse, small, desperate. I found you lying just feet away. Not a scratch on you."
"Bandits?" Kyota asked.
"No," he said grimly. "Organized killers. Mercenaries hired by someone powerful. They weren't there to steal. They were there to wipe something out. I watched them for hours, hiding in the trees. There were over a hundred. They moved like soldiers."
His voice dropped lower. "They spotted you before I could act. I didn't think. I just… snapped."
The room seemed to shrink as he spoke.
"I summoned winds sharp enough to shear skin, flames hotter than magma, and lightning that blinded the night. I rained fury on them until not a single man stood. I scorched the earth where they walked. I made the forest remember what fear felt like."
Kyota's fists clenched. Even Yuki looked afraid—not of the story, but of what it meant.
The wizard looked at her. "You don't remember. And that's a gift. But I swore that day, if I could save you, I'd never let you feel abandoned again."
Yuki's voice was barely a whisper. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Because every time I looked at you," he replied, "I saw life. Not what had been lost."
Kyota placed a hand gently on her back. "You're not alone now. Not anymore."
She nodded, though her eyes glistened. "I know. That's why I smile. Even when it hurts."
The next day, the wizard suggested a trip to the town in the valley below. He said they needed supplies. But they knew—it was his way of lifting the weight of their hearts.
They walked the winding trail, passing snow-kissed pine trees and little patches of blooming wildflowers. Kyota teased Yuki about her slow steps, and she retaliated by throwing pinecones at him.
In town, they roamed between stalls. Kyota tried to haggle for a cloak and ended up getting scammed. Yuki laughed so hard she fell against a barrel. The wizard, meanwhile, lectured a young merchant for trying to sell "fake healing crystals" to tourists.
They ate beside a river. The water glittered under the afternoon sun, and the breeze carried scents of bread, roasted nuts, and fruit.
Kyota lay back in the grass, arms folded behind his head. "I could stay like this forever."
Yuki sat beside him, quietly feeding ducks with crumbs. "Maybe not forever. But today? I'll take."
That night, the stars stretched endlessly above. The fire crackled as the three sat near the hearth. The air was calm, the night gentle.
The wizard looked at them both, his eyes thoughtful.
"You two are getting along quite well," he said casually.
Yuki stiffened. "W-what do you mean?"
"Nothing. Just an observation."
"There's nothing going on," she said too quickly.
"Of course," he smirked. "Just like how children don't notice when the seasons change."
Kyota raised an eyebrow. "What kind of weird metaphor is that?"
The wizard stood. "Do kids five and six usually feel this way?"
Yuki blinked. "Feel what?"
He only smiled. "Ah… nothing."
She blushed, suddenly very interested in the floorboards.
The wizard turned away. "You'll understand someday. Or maybe you already do."
As he walked off to his room, Kyota looked at Yuki. "He's acting strange."
She looked at Kyota. "And you're acting normal. That's even stranger."
They both chuckled. And outside, the stars blinked down as if smiling.
Beneath the warm roof of the wizard's mountain home, something precious was blooming—not loudly, not quickly, but enough to change everything.