Arthur looked at the date.
'Nod‑Nekas, Q 1, Sol 6 2032 S.S.'
Has it already been four years?
He opened the window. The sun was descending from its highest. The red Eas thinned toward the horizon. Mis was unseen. Only the faint blue crescent Kas remained.
It was true. Four years.
We will leave when Cellis turns fifteen — five months and five days from today.
He exited his house and moved left from the door. The open village lay quiet. The road, worn from constant walking, stretched toward the river.
'We have tried finding what my ability can do. I can create only non‑living things. No wood. No flesh. But bones and a few other things are exceptions.'
The river reflected Kas faintly.
'Fire and wind do not work. Dark especially not. Maybe it is not real.'
'We discovered I could create mana a month ago. After properly sensing them, I created all five types. But the sixth, dark mana — even after imitating the described sensation — failed.'
He walked from the river toward the marked tree. The ground grew denser as he moved, roots pressing through the soil. The tree stood where the land thickened before rising toward the hill.
He climbed up the marked tree and looked toward East Pinch Hill. He searched for the cave he knew was there, half‑shadowed along the slope. His hand rested against the bark as he steadied himself.
'I can create varying things, but I have limits. A kind of weight. Heavier or rarer material are harder.'
Still at the top, touching the trunk, he extended his focus outward. A small pebble formed several steps away at the base of the tree.
'I can only create one substance at a time.'
He descended and stood on the ground, placing his palm facing upward. A dull silver fragment began forming above it. The formation was slow. The fragment dropped at the start of its creation but continued forming even after reaching his hand.
'Even a pebble of pure mithril, one‑third the size of my fist, takes half a day to form without being weighed. Even a small amount is significant.'
He stopped before more weight was unnecessarily wasted.
'They do not form instantly.'
The slope of East Pinch Hill rose ahead. The river flowed beside the cave at its base. The bear stepped out and placed several fish before retreating again. There was a waterfall nearby. Water fell from the cliffs of the Oceanic Lake, steady and constant.
He climbed steadily toward the hut at the top. Reaching it, he arranged the fish outside. He created mana of light in his palm, converted it into fire mana, and cast a small flame a short distance away. The flame lit previously used firewood that still lay prepared for burning.
He was training. Converting light into fire mana yielded more fire mana than creating fire directly, though both carried the same weight.
He controlled the burning flame without touching it. He remembered Cellis's use of light — smooth, without pause, her control seamless as if it required no effort. The memory guided his own adjustments.
The sky dimmed further as Kas brightened. Five months and five days lingered in his mind.
He shouted, "Paster! Where are you? I have brought food!"
Silence.
From the hut, a voice spoke.
"Since you have now bettered control, how about learning magic from me?"
Arthur turned. What he had been doing was not proper magic. It was the use of mana to forcibly and ineffectively imitate it.
"I was always eager."
From the hut, Paster said,
"After you can do all the conversions first, I will start teaching you properly."
His hand held onto a transparent crystal fragment that was blurred rather than clear.
Arthur remembered a different place — a laboratory lined with instruments — Paster saying something similar long ago. The tone had been the same then.
"You could go there any time to get the crystals in the laboratory. You understand the mechanics of the lunar collection formation and can freeze the water to cross."
Paster replied, "We should maintain some discipline, Arthur. We cannot be greedy about the facilities."
Arthur sensed Paster's mana faintly. The attribute was consumed immediately, leaving only null mana that was then stored within the crystal. No mana leaked from it; the sensation was fainter than usual for him.
"Who would have guessed," Paster said mildly, "that asking your help for this project would help you gain mana as well."
>>>
Time passed without pause. The awaited five months and five days had come and gone, yet Arthur had miscalculated — they were not meant to arrive exactly on that date. It would have been too far from the academy's opening. So he waited one month longer.
At last, the morning arrived.
A pale mist hung over the river near the old stone bridge that marked the village's edge. The pickup point lay just beyond it — flattened earth worn smooth by wheels and hooves.
Arthur stood ready for travel. A dark, fitted coat meant for distance rather than display rested over a light inner shirt. Gloves secured at his wrists. Boots reinforced for long roads. His hair was tied neatly back. A compact satchel hung at his side.
From the road behind came hurried footsteps.
"Arthur! — Gasp — did you forget me?" Paster approached, breath uneven, clutching a leather pouch.
Arthur turned calmly. "No. I chose not to call you. You were likely busy with the book."
He added evenly, "Calm down and breathe before you speak."
Paster straightened, inhaled, then said, "I was occupied with the third puzzle."
"We solved the second problem years ago," Arthur replied. "Have you made progress? It should be my turn."
Paster frowned slightly. "It is true I relied on you for the first two questions. And yes, I gained this opportunity because of you. That does not mean I can only discover the questions. I can solve them as well."
Arthur's gaze sharpened. "Then what is the answer?"
Paster hesitated — only briefly. "Do not forget my teachings about mana."
Arthur shifted his focus toward Cellis, who stood a short distance away with Mike and Sarah.
Mike spoke first. "Come visit during free time, okay?"
Sarah nodded toward the road. "The carriage is here."
Paster cleared his throat and extended the pouch. "Anyway. These are our collections."
Arthur accepted it. The pouch was filled to near capacity; the weight was deliberate.
"Is this all of it?" Arthur asked.
Paster gave a thin smile. "Of course not. You expect too much from me."
The two horses stood harnessed to the carriage, leather straps creaking softly as they shifted their weight. Their broad chests rose and fell in steady rhythm, steam curling from their nostrils into the cool air. The wind tugged at their thick manes, tossing dark strands across alert, intelligent eyes. Their tails flicked sharply against the gusts, and their powerful hooves scraped against the cobbled road — impatient yet disciplined. Every muscle beneath their glossy coats seemed carved from strength and endurance, built for distance and duty. The breeze whistled through the harness rings, and the horses lifted their heads high, ears twitching toward the rustling trees. Though the wind pressed against them, the pair stood firm — steadfast, loyal, and unyielding — like silent guardians of the carriage they pulled.
Arthur observed quietly. "Two escorts. Two gale horses."
He glanced at Paster. "Do not worry. After all, I am yours — and you are my only true friend."
Viggo arrived alongside the carriage, assisting with the luggage. Arthur and Paster loaded the belongings while Cellis's mother embraced her tightly. The farewells carried restrained emotion rather than tears.
Cellis entered first, taking the seat facing forward — away from the entrance. She hoped Arthur would sit beside her.
Arthur stepped in after her and chose the opposite seat, closer to the carriage door.
Cellis composed herself. He must be shy.
Outside, an older escort took charge of the horses while the younger one stepped into the carriage.
Cellis saw his — no, her — opportunity and almost smiled at her own childish thought. Now I can sit next to Arthur.
She began to move.
Arthur looked up. "Celle, why are you changing seats?"
"I am leaving the seat for the butler," she replied lightly. "And my name is Cellis. Respect your master."
Arthur answered without pause. "Saying 'Celle' is easier for me, Mistress. And they are escorts, not butlers."
Cellis froze. He had corrected her twice.
She turned toward the window instead. I feel foolish… At least I am closer to him now.
The younger escort suppressed a faint smile.
The carriage door shut. The gale horses stepped forward in disciplined unison, and the bridge slowly receded behind them as the journey began.