The first rays of sun fell diagonally on Finia's face, who had taken over the bed as if every corner of the room belonged to her. She slept sprawled across it, her wavy hair disheveled over her face and the sheets, a network of brown snakes. One leg poked out from under the blankets, like an immovable pillar, and her small snores filled the room with a peaceful, endearing air.
Dyan stopped in the doorway, watching her. He saw her so relaxed, so serene. She was still that restless girl who, nonetheless, could sleep like a log. She had matured, yes, but she was still herself deep down... and perhaps on the surface, too.
He entered softly and sat down beside her. Carefully, he moved the curls away from her face. Finia complained in a murmur, only to turn towards him and stretch out a hand in search of company even in the middle of her sleep. Dyan smiled. He adored her with all his heart. Having her close, without worries, without urgent duties, had been the greatest relief for his spirit. And in that calm, inevitably, a name returned to him. A memory both sweet and bitter.
A name that still hurt: Lena.
Golden hair, a tense smile, a voice faked to sound stronger, firm arms that had hugged him when he needed it most, when he was still a lost and broken young man. And then, the distance. The abandonment.
Was she still in Glacius?
The thought was a crack through which the dampness of memory seeped, like in old houses that hide mold until winter arrives.
Finia's hand felt across the bed until it found his.
"Just a little longer," she whispered, still deep in sleep.
Dyan held her hand gently, trying not to pull her from that deep rest. The girl's relaxed face dispelled the darkness that had appeared in his mind, like the sun erasing the ice from the windowsill.
"It's already spring," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the river that flowed endlessly beyond the window.
The little birds had started singing earlier in recent days. They perched among the branches of the cassia tree that covered the backyard, right in front of the window. Their song was a promise, like the warmth that returned with the season. For Dyan, they were both things: song and sun, renewed hope. And even more so after the thought that had germinated in his mind while Finia slept beside him.
She opened her eyes slowly.
"I'm hungry," she said with a smile, squeezing his hand. "I slept so well. I love sleeping like this... Why do I sleep so well here?"
"I don't know, maybe occupying other people's beds helps you sleep better," he replied with gentle irony.
Finia laughed.
"I like sleeping next to you."
Dyan ruffled her hair.
"You're getting too used to this, you rascal. You said the last time was the last."
"This really was the last time, I promise," she said, though they both knew it wouldn't be.
She looked at Dyan's face. She had always been fascinated by his eyes, how they sparkled in the sunlight, as if they contained liquid silver or old steel, depending on the time of day.
"Let's have breakfast. Frila must be arriving soon, along with our little helper."
"I don't think Frila likes me... Why is that? Cadin is so sweet, but Frila is very shy with me. I'd like to get closer to Casia too, we're almost the same age."
Dyan caressed her cheek with a gentle gesture.
"Patience. You're a sweet and kind girl too. They'll see that, in time, and they'll get closer to you."
Finia pouted.
"Okay... I find patience difficult, but I'll try. They'll come around." She smiled. "Today I'm going to squeeze Cadin's cheeks until I'm tired of it."
"Don't overdo it with her."
"But they're just so...!" She made the gesture of squeezing them with her hand. "They're so soft..."
They laughed together. The whirlwind named Cadin would not be long in arriving.
"Get dressed. I'll go prepare breakfast," he said, getting up. "I'll wait for you downstairs."
Dyan headed for the door. His long silver hair ruffled slightly with his steps.
"Dad..." Finia said, just before he crossed the threshold. Dyan stopped and turned to look at her. "I love you."
Dyan smiled.
"I love you too. Hurry up, because if Cadin arrives, she'll eat your breakfast."
"True...!" Finia exclaimed, sitting up with a jolt.
As he prepared breakfast, Dyan's mind fluttered with new ideas, born during the night. His thoughts, more restless than ever, couldn't calm down; he felt that time was running out. There was a promise, a silent debt to Silvania, that had been weighing on him for too many years. And for the first time in a long time, he began to glimpse an opportunity to turn back the clock. That possibility, however faint, gave him renewed strength.
He took a wooden spoon and dipped it into a jar of honey, pouring it into the milk he had left to warm on the stove. To one side, white bread and some cinnamon buns, bought the day before from Melia, the town baker, were browning slowly. On the table already rested cheese, butter, and strawberry and apricot jams.
Without realizing it, that simple daily task—preparing breakfast for Finia and her little visitors—had become an endearing routine. Every day he put more dedication and care into it. Where there was once only tea, bread, and butter, now there were pastries, warm milk, cheeses, and improvised dishes with a touch of creativity. His culinary skills had been polished without him trying.
He stirred the milk, and the sweetness of the honey began to permeate the air of the dining room. Then, he put butter in the pan and, while it melted, finely chopped an onion. He let it caramelize over low heat until its color was golden and its aroma filled the house. Then he cracked several eggs and gently scrambled them over the mixture. Salt, pepper, and breakfast was ready.
He served everything on the table, placing four cups—already a habit—next to the plates. Then he heard footsteps on the stairs.
Finia stopped in the loft, her eyes wide.
"By all the gods..." she exclaimed, dramatizing with a hand on her chest. "Are you planning to send me back to Scabia in a wheelbarrow? Since I arrived, I feel like I've gained five kilos." She crossed her arms, feigning indignation.
"Come and eat before it gets cold," Dyan replied, raising the cup with the sweetened milk in her direction.
Their eyes met. Calm, warm smiles, almost surprised by the serenity they both felt. It was a kind of peace they were not used to, but which they were beginning to accept as their own. They had decided—without saying it—to stop walking the rigid path of duty, at least for a while, and walk another parallel one, a more human one. One where hugs replaced orders and smiles replaced absence.
Finia jumped down and puffed out her chest.
"Today I'll make lunch."
"Seriously? Do you remember your last attempt?"
"Don't remind me! I was a child then," she retorted with a pout, as she sat down. She inhaled deeply as she received her cup. "I think I've learned enough by watching you." She smiled, hugging the cup with both hands. "Thank you."
Her face glowed. The freckles sprinkled on her pink cheeks, combined with her unruly curls, gave her an air of charming chaos. She had matured, yes, but her essence was still there. Dyan thought that perhaps the Tower had made her more serious, more somber… and that he, unintentionally, had also contributed to hardening her. But now, in Gavendell, the layer of coldness that once covered her was beginning to melt away. Day after day, she was starting to resemble that mischievous girl who once ran by his side, holding his hand.
Finia took a piece of toast, covered it with the egg and onion mixture, sprinkled a little pepper on it, and took a big bite. She raised her eyebrows in a gesture of approval, her eyes smiling as she chewed.
Dyan sat down next to her, poured milk into his own cup, and after a brief silence, spoke:
"Have you ever thought about the nature of healing magic?"
Finia wiped the corner of her lips and looked at him with curiosity.
"Isn't it a manifestation of divine magic? That's what the texts say..." She took a sip before continuing. "To be honest, I've never really thought about it. I've always been content with just using it. Although since I arrived here, questioning the foundations has become a common thing."
"If you analyze it well," Dyan said as he prepared his own toast, "basic healing magic closes wounds. But the more advanced spells... make them disappear without a trace. Not a single scar. As if it never happened."
"That's true," Finia nodded. "We always believed the marks were left because of a lack of power in the spell." She paused to think for a few seconds. "Do you think that's not the case?"
"That's exactly what I'm considering. I think healers like you have a connection to something deeper... something that might be linked to space-time magic."
She frowned. "Are you talking about that dangerous magic you mentioned a few days ago? 'Echoscript,' you called it?"
Dyan took her hand gently.
"No, don't worry. I'm referring to space-time magic, the one we're investigating together."
Finia relaxed her shoulders and smiled.
Dyan continued. "I think I have a certain affinity with spatial magic, but temporal magic escapes me…," he said thoughtfully. "Although the results of the last experiments have improved with you here. That very thing gave me an idea. Maybe temporal magic is connected to your specialty: healing."
Finia raised an eyebrow as she took another big bite of her toast, without the slightest concern for manners.
"It makes sense. That would explain some things…"
At that moment, someone knocked on the front door. A light, familiar knock.
The door opened without waiting for a response and quick footsteps filled the house.
"Uncle Mage! Aunt Ninia! I'm here!" Cadin shouted as soon as she set foot inside.
Frila was behind her, panting and begging her in a low voice to behave, without too much hope.
Dyan was carefully cutting a slice of aged cheese when the joyful knocking at the door broke the calm. Finia got up with a smile, knowing perfectly who it was.
"I'll get it!"
She didn't get to cross the living room, as Cadin entered like a storm of enthusiasm. She was carrying a small basket covered with a cloth, and behind her, with soft steps and a downcast gaze, Frila appeared, carrying a small basket of fruit.
"Good morning! I brought milk bread!" Cadin announced, raising the basket as if it were a treasure. "And Frila brought peaches, Mom sent them." She added with a huge smile.
"I chose them myself," Frila murmured, hiding a smile behind her braid. Her cheeks turned pink.
Finia couldn't help herself. She circled the table and in a couple of steps reached Cadin, trapping her face between her hands as if she were a living teddy bear.
"Look at these cheeks! How could I not want to squeeze them every day?" she said, while the girl complained without much conviction.
"Aunt Niniaaa, it hurts a little!"
"It's medicine for the soul," she replied, laughing.
Dyan watched the scene with a warm smile. In that instant, with the aroma of bread, the shared laughter, and Cadin's vibrant energy, the world seemed to stop. He moved aside to make space at the table, and Frila took a seat to his right, carefully placing the fruits on a plate.
"How are you feeling today, Master Dyan?" she asked in a soft voice, glancing at the mage.
"Very well... thank you," he replied. "Happy to have you here again."
Frila lowered her head, too embarrassed to look him in the eye, while Dyan filled her cup with warm milk.
Cadin was already telling an anecdote about her visit to the town's farm and how she had milked a cow, gesticulating with enthusiasm as she spread honey on her bread. Finia listened with feigned disbelief, asking absurd questions to annoy her even more.
"And are you sure the cow wasn't proposing to you?"
"Aunt Ninia!" Cadin shouted, pointing a spoonful of honey at her.
Laughter filled the small room. Frila let out a contained laugh, and even Dyan leaned back in his chair, laughing without reserve. For an instant, there were no duties, no arcane marks, no besieged cities. Just warm bread, hands sharing the same plate, and the simple warmth of an improvised home.
After breakfast, Finia and Cadin launched into one of their favorite games: magically moving objects from one side of the room to the other. Finia did it with increasing skill, while the little helper demanded more daring challenges with the enthusiasm of someone who knows no limits. She even asked, for the third time that week, to be moved herself.
"Come on, move me! Just a little bit!" Cadin begged, jumping in place.
Finia pointed to the blackboard hanging next to the window, where the words were still clearly written in pink chalk:
"Rule 4: Do not move Cadin. Even if Cadin wants it."
"The rules are clear," Finia said with feigned solemnity, though she couldn't help but smile.
"But that's an old rule!" Cadin protested, crossing her arms with exaggeration. "I'm bigger now."
Finia ruffled her hair affectionately.
"And more stubborn, too."
Deep down, she adored playing with Cadin. Her overflowing laughter and inexhaustible energy were contagious, but there was something more. In that small chaos, Finia felt a freedom she had never had: to play without objectives, without pressure, without duties. Just to be, to laugh, and to exist in a safe space, at last.
Meanwhile, Dyan was washing the dishes with Frila by his side, who was drying each one delicately.
"Master Dyan… thank you for playing with my sister," Frila said, with her soft, quiet, almost trembling voice. "She comes every day and… she can be a bit intense."
Dyan handed her another plate, which she took carefully.
"Don't worry. Finia adores her, and so do I. Her company brightens our day," he replied with a smile as he dried his hands. "You are welcome here, too, Frila."
"Thank you, Master Dyan," she repeated with a slight bow of her head.
"Just call me Dyan. I'm no longer anyone's master."
Frila looked at him, surprised.
"Are you serious?"
"Of course."
The moment brought back an unexpected memory. Silvania had told him almost the same thing when he was little more than Frila's age. He smiled to himself. Sometimes time was a strange mirror, capable of returning images one thought were lost. Not all of them were kind, like the bitter memory of the woman who cared for him tenderly in his darkest days, but others… others brought back beloved faces from long ago. Like Silvania's, before the sickness.
He turned to Frila, his expression more lively than it had been a moment ago.
"Come on, Frila. Today we're going to do some magic."
She set the last plate next to the others and carefully covered them with a cloth. Then she followed Dyan, with hurried steps, not wanting to miss a thing.
The backyard welcomed them with the sun filtering through the branches of the cassia tree. Beyond, the pines and cedars formed a green wall that buffered the wind. The constant murmur of the river could be heard, distant but present. In the middle of the garden, on a wooden stump, a peach rested from which Dyan had taken a bite.
Sitting on the grass, Frila and Finia watched expectantly, while Cadin settled onto her "Aunt Ninia's" lap.
"This peach was wounded," Dyan declared with an almost comical solemnity.
"Uncle Mage... you just took a bite out of it," Cadin interjected, raising an eyebrow.
"Wounded," Finia completed with a playful smile.
"That's what I said," Cadin nodded, as if she had always understood.
Frila played with the tip of one of her braids, suppressing a laugh.
Dyan placed his hand on the peach. A soft, warm light enveloped it as he channeled healing magic. The girls watched intently, but at a glance, nothing seemed to have changed.
Cadin clapped for the light, though she cocked her head.
"What happened?"
"Come closer," Dyan said, showing them the peach.
Frila leaned in and examined it carefully. Where there had once been a clean cut, made by a knife, the edges were now irregular, as if the fruit had tried to grow over the wound.
"The edges changed..." she murmured, almost breathless.
"Did they grow?" Cadin asked, reaching out a hand.
Finia took the peach and observed it in more detail.
"I'm going to try something else," she announced, raising an eyebrow.
She held the fruit in her palm and channeled advanced healing magic. Her body lit up with a soft golden glow. Cadin and Frila watched, their mouths agape, as the light enveloped the peach and vibrated slightly in the air.
"Don't stop," Dyan said. "Trust in what you're doing."
When the light faded, Finia opened her eyes and looked at the fruit in disbelief. The cut had disappeared. There was no trace. She turned the peach over in her fingers, looking for any mark, a scar, an imperfection... nothing.
"By all the gods..." she murmured. "Did I heal a peach?"
"No," Dyan replied, with a calm that contrasted with the emotion of the moment. "You returned it to a previous state. That's what I believe. Advanced healing magic, in reality, might be localized temporal magic. It doesn't heal... it reverses time within the body, to a moment before the injury.
Cadin stood up and clapped enthusiastically.
"Aunt Ninia! Pretty lights! Congratulations!"
Finia, still stunned, offered her the peach.
"Thank you," Cadin said, holding it with both hands as if it were a precious gift.
While the girl happily bit into the "resurrected" fruit, Finia's gaze was lost in space. Ideas swirled in her mind. If Dyan was right, and all signs pointed to it, an essential part of the magical theory of healing was wrong. Or incomplete. And that... could change everything.
After dinner—prepared by Frila and Finia, with Cadin's essential participation—the mage walked the visitors home. When he returned, he found Finia sitting at the desk, reviewing the notes she had been writing night after night.
Dyan lit the lamps and the fireplace with a slight wave of his hand as he crossed the threshold. Finia looked up, her face pale in the warm firelight.
"I think I understand what's happening," she said in a low voice. "Dad, this could force us to rethink many things about magic." She pointed to the vase on the coffee table. "I broke it while you were out."
Dyan barely raised an eyebrow. The vase was whole, without a single crack.
"Then my assumptions were correct."
"I think so... but it's also scary. If this is true, someone could turn back their own clock... or that of others. How much time could it cover? How far can it go? I can't stop thinking about the risks."
Dyan approached the desk and sat across from her.
"Your fears make sense, but it's unlikely anyone would try it. First, the mages capable of using advanced healing are few and far between. Second, restoring even a small object seems to require colossal amounts of mana. Now imagine restoring a human being... not just an arm, but a complete body. It would require mana that no mage could gather under normal conditions."
"Under normal conditions... yes," Finia admitted, lowering her gaze. "But there are powerful mages... and even more powerful tools. Someone could try it."
"Indeed," Dyan murmured, with a slightly somber tone in his voice. He lowered his gaze. He had thought about it.
"A crystal like the one in Scabia Tower..." she began.
"Could be a viable source for such a spell," he confirmed. "Though the consequences would be unpredictable."
"This is just a hypothesis, right?" Finia asked, searching his eyes for a denial, a certainty that would calm the growing fear she felt.
Dyan didn't answer immediately.
"Dad... please, tell me you're not going to try it." She stretched out her hand and took his. "The price could be enormous, Dad. Please..."
Dyan's silver eyes glowed with a warm tint from the fire's reflection. He squeezed his daughter's hand tightly.
"If anything ever happened to you... I would use it without hesitation. For you, and for those I love. Isn't that why we use magic? If there's a possibility of making the impossible possible... isn't it worth trying for love?"
Finia felt a lump in her throat, her eyes filled with tears.
"Don't worry about me, little one," Dyan said, tenderly. "I wouldn't do anything that would put me at extreme risk. I know too well what it's like to lose everything."
He raised his right hand.
"Do you remember when you healed it?"
"How could I forget?" she whispered, fighting to maintain her composure. "I was promoted to an advanced mage thanks to that healing. I thought I would die that day..."
"We didn't know it then, but you risked your life for me," Dyan said, caressing her hand. "You were in bed for days, with a fever, exhausted. But now I understand why. You didn't just heal a wound... you turned back the time of my body to before I suffered it. I received that burn when I was fifteen, in a battle in the north."
Finia's eyes widened, doing mental math. She was sixteen when she was promoted, which meant Dyan was at least thirty-two then. She had restored a wound from more than fifteen years ago... and it had almost cost her her life.
"What you did was an act of love," he said, looking at her with pride. "But now... it has an even deeper meaning. You didn't just heal my hand. You erased more than a decade of shadows I had carried since I was just a boy. That's why, if my turn ever comes... if I have to return what you gave me, if I must risk myself for you, or for those who saved me from the abyss... I will. Without a doubt."
Finia looked at him with tear-filled eyes. There was no longer fear on her face, but a deep, profound, sincere tenderness. Her father—not just her master, her father—was looking at her as if she were still his little girl, and she felt it, with the same need as when she was an orphan, when she admired him from afar and feared she wasn't good enough.
"Dad... I know you'll do something crazy sooner or later," she said with a trembling voice. "Like when you traveled to Fort Frontier with that space-time magic you hadn't even tested. I know you'll do it. But promise me you won't leave me alone. You're all I have."
"I will never leave you."
They didn't talk about magic anymore that night. They sat in front of the fireplace, hugging. Dyan told her stories of his first battles, of his old master Edictus, of Silvania, of the comrades he had under his command, and of the dangers they faced together.
He kept only one story to himself.
He didn't want to talk about her. Perhaps because it still hurt. Perhaps because saying her name out loud was to awaken a buried memory. The memory of that golden-haired warrior, with strong arms and an elusive smile, but a sincere heart, still hurt. His first true love... and his first betrayal.