Walking through the hallways, I dodged students dragging giant spell crates, someone's levitating potion kit, and at least three magic duels the teachers clearly didn't notice—or maybe just gave up on. Seniors barked at first-years. The student council stood guard like knights of order.
It was chaos disguised as routine.
And I was stuck running errands.
Of course, my teammates picked me to fetch the project materials—it was the most boring task, after all.
"You're the fastest," they said.
"You don't complain much."
Lies. I complain plenty. They just didn't want to do the work, so they dumped it on me because I was the oldest.
I stepped out of the academy gates and into the outer district—where the market was already buzzing. Stalls lined the cobbled paths, packed with everything from enchanted herbs to overpriced mana ink. A merchant nearly sold me a 'rare alchemy core' that was just a polished beetroot.
That's when I felt it again.
That weird… prickling.
Like someone was watching me.
Not a normal someone. It wasn't just a stare. It was like a tug, something far off in the back of my mind. I couldn't shake it, no matter how much I tried to focus on the task at hand.
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ignore it.
Maybe it was just another side effect.
They say magic awakens at different ages for everyone, but in my case, it didn't arrive quietly. A failed experiment last year left something inside me… off. Since then, I've been more sensitive—too sensitive—to things other people couldn't sense. Shifts in magic. Sudden pulses. Echoes no one else heard.
There it was again. A slight tug—like something out of place, something pulling my attention.
I passed a stall with clocks ticking in sync, but one stood out. Its hands moved just a fraction too fast. I stared. Blinked. They were normal again.
I shook my head and kept walking, but the unease wouldn't let go.
Then, just as I reached for the bundle of paper I needed, it hit harder.
Like a nudge straight into my thoughts.
Stop.
I froze.
What was I doing?
I glanced around. No one was watching me. No one even noticed I'd stopped.
It's not real, I told myself. I'm just tired. This is just another leftover side effect.
And then I saw it—a mirror across the street. Just a regular vendor mirror. But something was… wrong. For a second, I could've sworn I saw a blur in it. A dark shape was behind me. A ripple in the glass.
I turned sharply. Nothing. Only my own reflection.
I let out a breath, frustrated.
I was being ridiculous.
Still, something tugged at me. My eyes flicked to a book stall nearby. One book in particular caught my attention—worn, old, its cover barely legible. But something about it pulled at me.
I stepped closer. My hand hovered over it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I turned away, task unfinished—but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. Something waiting.
Under my breath, I muttered, "You're not supposed to be watching me."
The mirror shimmered. Just slightly. The blur shifted; it took shape. A silhouette. A boy. About my age.
And for the first time… I felt him notice me too.
The book in my hand flipped open, pages fluttering like startled wings. Ink bled onto the parchment, curling and swirling into words before my eyes.
"Um… hello."
"Can you see me?"
I stared. I could hear my heart beating. I hadn't expected him to talk back.
I wet my lips and snapped the book shut halfway, clutching it tightly to my chest. "You're not supposed to be here," I said aloud—sharper than I intended. "What, do you think you can just watch me all day? I don't need some random stranger peeking in."
The book didn't respond right away. A soft breeze rustled the stall's canopy, making the hanging trinkets clink softly like wind chimes.
Then, slowly and carefully, more ink formed inside its pages.
"Did I scare you…?"
"I'm not trying to hurt you. It's just been… a long time since I've communicated with someone."
I didn't know what I expected. Maybe excuses. Maybe denial.
Not that.
I looked over my shoulder, half-expecting someone to be playing a prank, but no one was paying attention. The merchant was too busy arguing prices with a passing student.
I turned back, whispering under my breath. "You're… strange. No magic. No presence. And yet you're still here."
The ink shifted as if hesitating.
"I don't know how I'm still here either."
"But I saw you. You saw me. That's never happened before and I..."
I squinted at the page, heart still pounding. "Okay. Fine. You exist. Cool. Just—stop following me or whatever this is. Don't expect me to make this a habit."
The next line came slower.
"I don't expect anything. I just didn't want to disappear before I knew if you could really see me."
I… didn't know what to do with that.
Something about those words sat wrong. Or maybe too right. My grip on the book loosened just slightly.
A pause. Then another line.
"You're the only one who's ever seen me… In a very long time."
That line hit something inside me—something soft I didn't want touched.
I closed the book completely, pressing it flat against my palm.
My legs should've moved, should've walked away, but I stood frozen on the cobbled path.
The market noise faded a little.
Or maybe I just stopped hearing it.
I finally asked, quieter this time, "What are you?"
The book didn't answer right away. A single dot of ink appeared.
Then another.
Then:
"I don't remember everything."
"But I know I'm part of a place that doesn't move like your world does."
"I think I was waiting for something."
"…Or someone."
A chill ran down my arms. "Well, bad luck. I'm not your someone."
"You say that, but you haven't ignored me… You instead replied to me."
I closed my mouth.
That's fair, I guess.
I looked again at the mirror across the street. The silhouette was clearer now. Not just a shape. A boy with pale eyes and a tired expression. He was watching me not like a predator or a ghost—just… curiously. As if he couldn't believe I was real.
"Look," I said aloud, but a little softer this time, "this—whatever this is—needs to stop. I'm already messed up. I can't keep chasing shadows in books and mirrors."
"I'm not asking you to chase me."
"I only answered because you reached out first."
"That was—" I bit the inside of my cheek.
"That was a mistake."
No response.
I waited. A flicker of guilt itched at the back of my neck. I hated silence more than I hated answers.
"…Are you still there?"
After a moment, ink bled in again—just one sentence:
"I don't want to scare you away."
I clenched my fists.
"…You're not scaring me."
"Then why do you sound like you're running?"
"I'm not—!" I cut myself off.
Was I?
The ink didn't press further. Just waited.
I sighed and sat on a low step near the stall, setting the book in my lap.
The market bustled behind me, but it felt distant now, like I had entered another place.
"What's your name?" I asked.
A pause.
"Elyan."
"And yours?"
"…Ren."
The name looked strange in writing—like seeing it from someone else's world made it heavier somehow.
"Ren."
"You have a strong thread."
"Even here, I can feel it."
I frowned. "Don't say weird stuff like that."
"I'm sorry."
"It wasn't meant to be strange. Just… true."
Something flickered again in the mirror—a soft glow around Elyan's form, like candlelight reflected on still water.
"You're the only one who's ever looked at me after all this time…"
I didn't answer that.
Didn't know how.
The book stayed quiet after that, as if it knew I needed time. Or maybe Elyan needed it too.
I finally stood, tucking the book under my arm.
I hadn't finished the errand. I hadn't even picked up the paper.
But it didn't matter.
Because now I had something else.
Someone else. A question that wouldn't leave.
And a name I wouldn't forget.
Elyan.