"Hey!" Tello called, waving behind her. "Please stop!"
"Leave me alone," Gila muttered, still walking.
"I just want to talk," he said again and she stopped, turning back to him.
"About what?"
Tello paused, visibly surprised. He hadn't expected her to stop. Then, just as he opened his mouth, he keeled over, clutching his stomach.
"Agh... tea cramp."
"I'm leaving," Gila said, starting to turn.
"He won't be here forever, you know." Tello groaned, rising to his feet. "One day he'll be gone, and you'll curse yourself. You'll ask why you didn't talk to him more. Or do what he asked."
"You don't know me."
"You're right, I don't," Tello admitted. "We just met. Hell, you don't even know my name, but I know you don't want it to end like this."
Gila scoffed, still staring at him. "Do you know what it's like being pestered every day to do something you don't want to? It's exhausting. It really is."
"Kinda," Tello said. "My mom's been pushing this 'have a kid' thing on me too."
Gila blinked, her gaze still on him. For a moment, she saw someone who might actually get it.
"So you understand," she said, stepping closer. "You get where I'm coming from?"
"I do," Tello nodded. "But at the same time... I want you to understand your father, too."
Gila turned, folding her arms. Without realizing it, she'd wandered onto the plot after leaving the house. With a sigh, she sat down on a small brick ledge near the ground, staring out at the empty lot.
"He's annoying," she said. "It's always 'your mother this' and 'your mother that.' He never asks what I want. What I care about. What does he even see when he looks at me?"
Tello stayed silent. Honestly, he hadn't expected to get this far, so for now, he simply watched.
"I'm not my mother. I'm not her dream either. I'm Gila Valless. I have things I want to do. Why can't he get that?"
"Maybe he misses her," Tello said gently. "He probably sees her in you... and thinks the best way to keep her alive, even after he's gone is through you. Through having kids."
She turned to look at him.
"He wants her dream and her image to live on. To be remembered."
"Even if that's what he wants," she said, "I'm not the tool he gets to use for that."
"And that's fair," Tello said. "You're your own person, with your own aspirations. That's what you have to help him understand."
"I already tried talking to him."
"I wouldn't really call that 'talking,'" Tello said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You two were yelling, then you walked out."
"I guess so." She looked at him again. "Why are you so worked up about this?"
"In truth, I don't know," Tello said. "Maybe... I just don't want you to go through what I did."
She patted the ledge beside her, inviting him to sit and after a brief pause, he did.
"So," she said, "what's your story?"
"My father died when I was about seven," Tello said, nudging a rock with his foot. "I still remember everything we talked about, the things he said he'd buy me, the places he'd take me and Mom."
She listened silently.
"One night," Tello continued, "he got called in for work, I don't know the details but it was something urgent and they needed all hands on deck. So he left."
"...What happened?"
"He never came back," Tello said. "A few weeks later, they returned with his corpse."
"I'm so sorry," Gila said softly.
"And do you know the worst part?" Tello went on. "Right before he left, I had so much to say to him, I wanted to tell him I was proud of him, that I loved him so much. But I didn't. I thought, there's always tomorrow."
He turned to her.
"But tomorrow never came."
Gila looked down.
"If I'd just told him what I wanted to say... maybe I wouldn't carry so much regret now."
"So that's why..." she muttered.
"Yeah," Tello murmured. "They won't be here forever. If you've got something to say, say it now. Don't put it off."
She exhaled, hands clasped. "I never really talked to him about it... not really. I just got so angry every time. I couldn't..."
"I get that."
"And then he acts like I don't care about her. Like he's the only one she mattered to." Gila said. "She was my mother, of course I loved her."
"You could tell him that too," Tello said. "He probably needs to hear it."
"You're right..." Gila smiled, looking at him. "Do you always give advice this good?"
Tello blinked, her face much closer than he expected. "Not really... This is kind of my first time."
"Well, you're good at it." Gila stood, dusting off her dress. "Wait... I didn't even ask your name. I'm sorry. I've just been rambling—"
"I'm Tello," he said, standing too.
"You already know me, since I wouldn't shut up," Gila said with a half smile, then glanced past him toward the house. "So, what brought you here?"
"I came with my brother to acquire your dad's plot and one thing led to the other," Tello said, scratching the back of his head. "He was adamant that you'd want to marry me and even went as far as saying he'd give me the plot if you did."
"Now that you've mentioned it." She came closer to him, "You're quite cute."
"Is that so," Tello blinked, then reeled back like her words had finally registered. "Wait... cute?!"
"So you're one of them shy types," Gila said, folding her arms. "That makes you even more attractive."
"Wha—what are you even saying?!" Tello stammered, but she just laughed.
"Relax. I'm only teasing you." She turned, walking toward the house. "Though... I'm not exactly against the idea either."
"What did you just say?" Tello called after her, not hearing her last words.
"I wonder what my dad's up to right now!" she said aloud.
Tello jogged to catch up, slowing as he reached her side. "Yeah, I left him with Stephen. He was rambling about magic or something. I wasn't paying attention."
"Is that so," she said. "So, what's your dream woman?"
Tello coughed, nearly doubling over and Gila just kept going, casually and curiously firing off more questions as they made their way back. Meanwhile, inside the small shack, the conversation had taken a different turn. Across the table, Rumm poured more tea into Stephen's cup.
"To channel magic, you must have a path," Rumm explained.
"A path?" Stephen echoed.
"A path?" Rumm nearly shouted, instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. "So that's where we're starting."
"Is it really that important?" Stephen asked, idly dropping far too many sugar cubes into his cup.
"It's the most important part," Rumm said. "If you can't feel your path, then the spirits have not chosen you. No matter how much mana you have, it's meaningless without their blessing."
He studied Stephen for a second, narrowing his eyes.
"But what would you even need magic for?" He asked. "You seem to be into business, so what would a merchant like you want to do with the arts?"
He wasn't wrong. In the original game, the closest Stephen ever got to danger was during a heated political argument. There were no monsters he had to deal with. No ambushes. No one after his life. It was just a dating sim after all.
But this wasn't the same world anymore. He had nearly died twice in the span of two days. If not for luck, or the system's help, he'd be buried by now.
He needed a way to protect himself... and Tello too.
"I'm just fascinated by it," Stephen said casually, sipping overly sweet tea. "Isn't that reason enough?"
"Not really," Rumm replied. "I learned magic to survive, serving in the city's Mage Knights for years. It wasn't curiosity that drove me, it was necessity. But maybe times have changed."
A gust of wind swept through the room, coiling around the cup like a serpent and lifting it into the air, where it hovered just above Rumm's open palm.
Stephen's eyes widened, as he stared at Rumm's hand. Just underneath the cup, like a colorless gas being burnt as fuel for a fire. He could see a purple light, dim but there.
"Is that your mana?" Stephen asked, pointing. "That purple light?"
"Yes, it is... wait, you can already see mana?" Rumm blinked. "Most mages don't learn to do that until long into their training. That's... impressive."
"Wow..."
"Mana is the fuel that keeps this world running," Rumm said, his tone shifting into something more teacherly. "Every living thing has it. From the tiniest ant to the largest behemoth. But how you use mana? That's the hard part."
"How so?" Stephen asked.
Rumm's cup drifted toward the sink, scooped up a spoon, then floated back to him, guided by what looked like a barely-there thread of wind.
"Outstretch your hand," he said.
Stephen did, laying his palm over the table between them.
"Try to focus your mana into the center of your palm, think about it the same way you'd build pressure when you clench your fist." Rumm said, "keep tightening it, until you see that purple light start to glow."
Stephen did as he said without saying a word, his hand clenched so hard it felt like it began to burn, and as he did, he could feel the slightest bit of movement on his palm, and he could see the slightest bit of light emanating from it.
"Amazing," Rumm said, placing his cup down with a clink. "You're a natural."
He raised his own hand again. This time, the glow was bright and pulsing like a lightbulb lit in his palm. With a small push, he sent the cup sliding across the table toward Stephen.
"In its rawest form, mana can strengthen the body or propel objects. But that kind of control takes years of training to even attempt—"
The cup stopped mid-table, pushed back slightly.
Stephen had his hand raised, breathing heavily.
Rumm stared at him. "Most people can't even budge it their first time... Are you sure you're just a merchant?"
Stephen laughed awkwardly, glancing at his palm. His heartbeat thudded like war drums in his ear. Even with that tiny use of mana, it felt like his whole energy had been burned away. Was this how it was supposed to feel?
How much mana had he even used to begin with?
The system hadn't notified him like it usually would've.
Which brought another concern.
Was the system even still around? It hadn't spoken since Diavelia's call.
"System, you there?" Stephen mumbled under his breath.
"What?" Rumm asked.
"I said, uh... I wonder what the next step is," Stephen covered up, but his suspicion was correct. The system was probably still with her.
"The next step would normally take several years of training," Rumm said, arms folded. "But since you're apparently a prodigy, we might as well skip ahead."
"Why do I feel like you're mad at me?" Stephen asked.
"I'm not," Rumm muttered, but it was the kind of not that only sounded more irritated. "Anyway. The next part is channeling your Path. Close your eyes."
Stephen did so.
"Picture a bridge… one that spans your entire body and mind, connecting every nerve, every breath, every motion you take and feel. Now imagine yourself walking that bridge, step by step until you reach the far end, where a deity awaits you."
"Okay, that was making sense for a second," Stephen said, opening one eye. "Then you lost me."
"Your Path is chosen the moment you're born," Rumm said.
"By who?"
"By one of the seven spirits of our world. Ignis, the Flame. Malekieth, the Sea. Bronze, of the Earth. Alsa, of the Wind. Zeros, of Thunder. And the twins, Dawn and Dusk of Light and Shadow."
Rumm raised his hand again and spoke clearly.
"Alsa, I beseech thee. Grant me your powerful torrents, your earth-shattering winds. This is my plea as your humble servant."
Rumm swung his hand and a slash of wind tore through the far wall, sending dust and plaster crumbling to the floor.
Stephen stared at the damage, wide eyed.
"In order to access your path, you must plead with your spirit, and only after they accept can you use their corresponding element." Rumm finished.
"So what if they don't accept?"
"Then you can pick up a sword or continue being a merchant."
"So its a one and done kinda thing." Stephen exhaled. "Alright... no pressure... no pressure."
Stephen glanced at his hand and began channeling mana into it. He felt it rise with each passing second, but as it surged, a sickness crept into him. His stomach ached. His limbs grew heavier. It felt like he was about to throw up.
"How... do I know my spirit?" he asked, barely holding himself together.
"It'll be the one you feel most attuned to," Rumm replied, "Something you brushed against once, without knowing. It could be when you stared into a fire, or let snow settle on your skin. It would've called to you. All you have to do is answer."
"All I have to do is answer," Stephen echoed.
The purple glow around his hand deepened, growing brighter with every word. It was now as bright as Rumm's had been, maybe even brighter.
He repeated himself, slower this time.
"All I have to do is answer."
Rumm leaned forward, eyes narrowing. At first, he looked impressed.
Then his face twisted into alarm.
Stephen's mana was building far too fast and he was burning through his mana at twice the normal rate, but worse still... it was completely unaided by any spiritual resonance.
His path was blocked.
"All I have to do is answer." Stephen said again.
"No, don't!" Rumm shot to his feet. "Stop! Release your hand! Stop channeling your mana—"
But Stephen's eyes were locked on the glow.
"Ignis, I beseech thee. Grant me your searing flames, grant me your fire,"
Rumm lunged across the table,
But all too late.
The house exploded.