The day of our joint birthday celebration — mine and Emanuelle's — finally arrived.
Over these past eight days, I barely meditated and practiced only the essentials of my spells. I decided it would be better to spend that time with my family, keeping each moment as if it were gold.
I started helping my mother more around the house. We stayed side by side, cleaning the floor, preparing food, even sewing. The needle scratched lightly at the fabric, and I caught myself watching the way her fingers moved with a natural ease I would never have. There was no need for me to learn any of that — even less so as a boy — but I didn't care. If it brought me closer to her, then it was worth it. Every small lesson was, for me, a pretext to be by her side.
With Emanuelle, the routine was different. We ended up practicing together more, and I realized how competitive she had become these last days. During one of our training sessions, she showed me the same combined spell she had once practiced only in secret: a heavy fog rising from the ground, swallowing the air around us and leaving the field damp. The muffled sound of our footsteps echoed as if we were somewhere else entirely.
Anna and Iolanda were there, watching. Anna, ever watchful, narrowed her eyes at my sister's demonstration and, for the first time, let a comment slip out loud:
"Why didn't she join the Dark Throne?" she said, looking straight at Iolanda. "She would be of great value to us."
I know she meant it as praise, but my chest tightened when I heard it. Not that I didn't want Emanuelle to be recognized — if it were up to me, I would be her guardian until the end of our days — but I had already noticed a dark pattern in those who belonged to the order. Each of them seemed to carry something broken inside, an invisible mark tying them to feelings they could never quite abandon. Pride, wrath, envy… there was always something.
"Yes. She would," Iolanda replied, her loose hair stirring in the cold wind that cut across the field, "but she doesn't have the profile to be one of us."
Anna didn't answer. She simply fell silent, as if accepting the verdict. The contrast intrigued me: she wielded fire and water — two elements that repel each other — yet in her they coexisted in an unstable balance. It was almost symbolic, I thought. Life rarely made sense.
With Anthony, I asked him to teach me farmwork — the same work he used to do with our father. I was still scrawny, much smaller than he was, but I wanted to learn, even just a little, what had sustained our family before all the tragedy.
We hardly spoke. Silence ruled most of the time, but it wasn't a heavy silence. It was the silence of reconciliation, as if the wall that had risen between us were being torn down, stone by stone, since our last conversation.
One of those days, my eyes fell on the scarecrow Anthony had made for me shortly before I went to Elise's house. Now it was burned, scarred by the flames the renegade mage had left behind when he attacked our home. The charred wood seemed to carry all our scars.
"Hey, Anthony," I called, breaking the silence. "Do you remember the day you made this scarecrow so I could practice?"
He turned, walking toward me. Anthony was nearly twenty centimeters taller than I was. His hair reminded me so much of Arthur's, and his eyes — as blue as our mother's — shone under the sun.
"Yes, I remember," he replied. "You ended up using it, didn't you?"
"I did," I nodded. "I remember the day you built it after you saw me training alone."
Anthony smiled — one of those sincere smiles, as if those memories were from yesterday.
"And did it help you?" he asked, looking me in the eyes.
"Yes! It helped me a lot!"
And it wasn't a lie. If not for that scarecrow, I might not have been able to help Emanuelle. It's not that I lacked the courage to kill those two boys — I had courage; I'd done much worse as Rodrigo. But inside me there was a dangerous passivity, a reluctance to kill again, that almost paralyzed me.
While I was on the ground, being kicked by the first boy I killed in that alley, flashes of the best moments of this new life came to me. Among them, the memory of the scarecrow Anthony had made. It gave me strength when I needed it most.
"Thank you for everything, big brother," I said, facing him head-on.
"You're welcome," he answered simply.
After that, we went back to working the land side by side, under the burning sun that singed our skin and the wind that carried both the smell of ashes and of hope.
★★★
"Happy birthday, Elian and Emanuelle," my mother said, pulling us into a tight hug. Her smile was intense, full of warmth and affection, as if she wanted to keep us inside it forever.
The celebration was simple, nothing luxurious — we were peasants, after all — yet it still had something special, almost a glimmer that brightened the day. I'd even say it was better than many we'd had before. My mother insisted on paying for most of it, but Elder Marduk didn't allow it. He only said that, in the future, I would pay.
Father… I know I've said this before, but I really do think I sold my soul to the devil.
The table was laden with what, to us, looked like a feast: still-warm loaves of bread, fresh fruit, well-seasoned meat, and even a light wine. The scent of spices mingled with the wood and magestone burning in the hearth, making the air comforting, almost familiar. Emanuelle's laughter beside our mother echoed softly, and for a moment I thought perhaps that was what the word happiness meant.
The people closest to us were there. Iolanda wore ordinary clothes — nothing special — but her steady gaze seemed ever alert to everything. Anna, by contrast, seemed more dressed up than usual: a green dress with blue accents that brought out her green eyes. I noticed she spoke at length with my mother, as if they'd been friends for years.
Two other mages also came, even though they were on duty. One of them, Rafael, was a man around forty, brown hair and green eyes that shone with something between fatigue and discipline. The other was a mage named Belle — blonde, amber eyes almost golden — with the straight, firm posture of someone who takes duty seriously. She mostly observed, but now and then smiled when she saw my sister helping set the table.
And of course, Elise was there too. She wore a wine-colored dress and had her hair tied back — as elegant as she always managed to be, even in the simplest situations.
"Thank you!" Emanuelle and I replied in unison to our mother's embrace.
My sister had already turned her year seven days earlier, and mine would be in eight more. Today was the middle ground — the meeting point between us — as if our lives had always been entwined since birth. She wore a golden-yellow dress with silver ruffles, and her smile lit up the room. Our mother, in navy blue with golden details, looked radiant despite all the pain she carried within.
I wore blue linen trousers, a long-sleeved red shirt, and a simple black cloak. Anthony, beside me, was dressed more modestly — beige trousers and a white shirt. Still, when I looked at him, I felt proud.
"Happy birthday, children."
This time it was Elise. Her posture was serious as always, but in her eyes there was a discreet brightness that betrayed joy.
"These are for you," she said, handing us two books.
Mine was about the kingdom's history and the founding of its orders — something no one had ever told me in detail, and which I longed to learn. Emanuelle's was a Tower of Wisdom grimoire, its bluish cover reflecting the soft glow of the lamps.
"Thank you, Elise," Emanuelle said, hugging her with that spontaneous warmth only she had.
Then Anthony approached. His steps were slow, almost solemn.
"Happy birthday, Elian, Emanuelle," he said, his voice calmer than usual. "I can't give anything luxurious, but please accept this."
From his hand, he held out a small linen pouch, slightly worn but sturdy.
"Elian, this wheat is the same one we planted before Father died," he said, his voice tight. "I want you to keep it, so you never forget where we came from. Even in the future."
I pressed the pouch to my chest. Simple, yet laden with meaning. It was more precious than any jewel. He reached out for a handshake, but instead I pulled him into a tight hug — rare between us, but necessary.
"Thank you," I said, feeling the warmth of his presence.
We stepped back, and then he turned to Emanuelle.
"This is for you, Emanuelle."