Evelyn's POV
The spell I modified from Mirror Image needed a name. I decided to call it Mana Puppet. It fit—creatures made of mana, mindless, following only the orders I gave. They had no survival instinct, no will of their own. Just puppets.
When Marcus and Lina proved they could also cast the spell, the villagers' children begged me to teach them too. To my surprise, only those who had reached Stage Two cultivation could manage it. Turns out drawing from the atmosphere alone isn't enough—Stage Two mana reserves are five times denser than ambient mana. That makes all the difference.
Since these sparring puppets were bound to hurt someone eventually, I insisted every child also learn basic healing magic.
The first few weeks were pure chaos—mana puppets slamming into each other, half-formed weapons breaking apart, kids limping away in frustration. But slowly, they learned. The chaos settled into rhythm. By the end of the month, every single one of them had broken through to Stage Two. Their determination stunned me.
At first, most shaped their puppets to look like parents or siblings. But soon their imaginations took over—wolves, boars, even a donkey one girl insisted on riding into battle. Their creativity made me laugh. Maybe this generation really will surpass mine.
Still, I know my time here is limited. In a few months, Marcus, Lina, and I will leave this village behind. I've given these children enough to defend themselves, maybe even thrive. After fifteen, their choices will be theirs alone—Academy, knighthood, adventurers. My role was never to choose for them, only to prepare them.
That night, I visited Lucas. He was still in my brother's room, sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up, staring at the floor. His eyes were ringed with sleepless shadows.
"You're awake," I said quietly.
He flinched at the sound of my voice, then forced himself to meet my gaze. "...I still hear them," he whispered. "The screaming. The fire. Every time I close my eyes, it's there. And I… I ran. I left them all behind."
I sat beside him, keeping my tone calm. "The children from the orphanage survived."
His head snapped up. "What?" His voice cracked.
"They're alive," I continued. "The caretaker raised a barrier to protect them until help arrived. Without your distraction, without his shield, none of them would've made it."
Lucas's hands clenched tightly in the blanket. His breath came in shaky gasps, as if he couldn't quite believe me. "You're not… you're not just saying that?"
I shook my head. "No lies. You saved them."
For a long moment, he sat frozen. Then his shoulders sagged, trembling, as though a crushing weight had finally lifted. His eyes filled with tears, and a shaky smile tugged at his lips. "They're alive… I didn't fail them… it wasn't for nothing…"
I let him have that moment of relief. I didn't tell him the rest—that half the villagers around the orphanage had perished. He's only a boy, even if fate calls him a hero. He deserves this sliver of peace before the burden of truth catches up with him.
As I left the room, I thought: One day, he'll have to face the whole truth. But not tonight. Not yet.