'The smell of magic..!'
A slaughter mage would never be able to forget their prey. Well, now that Viaelle was in the past, no one should be his prey, else he would lose himself to his shackles once more. This was a new life.
He was going to live as a new human.
—Ding dong!
The doorbell had rung, sending a chill through his body. He was swift to realise what was going on, having spent much of his hours of boredom expecting a variety of possibilities when it came to receiving his acceptance letter.
Feigning ignorance, the boy continued his oil painting, making a splash of blue and red in an inconspicuous yet meaningful crevice of the still-drying paint of the ocean floor. He could hear the vague whispers of muffled voices, leading his mind to imagine the surprise on people's faces.
Viaelle suppressed a growing smirk and focused on his painting. With how many myths his parents consumed on a daily basis, he had a feeling that the most excited person in this household wouldn't be him. The revelation that magic and sorcery existed would surely make his father the happiest man alive.
Smiling, the young boy shook his head. His father was going to step deeper into the world of workaholics at this rate. Hopefully, his mother could enjoy the revelation, too.
Soon, the sound of two excited and stupefied voices disappeared. The messenger's calm and prim intonations were the last to dissipate. Viaelle heard it quite clearly as three adults ascended the staircase and approached his room.
"Let me talk to the boy, it's best we inform him together."
—Knock, knock.
The young boy in question lifted his brush from the canvas and placed it down. A drop of seaweed green spread across the messy towel he used to dry his brush.
"…Come in,"
The door to his room clicked, and with a squeak, the old hinges allowed the door to open. In came a woman dressed in an emerald cloak, a severe gaze looming behind square glasses, and followed by his expectant parents.
Glancing at the woman's black hair, puled tightly back into a bun, Viaelle found her aura intriguing.
'So this is a wizard of the Eccentric Era…'
His gaze was calm and curious as he watched the three cramp together in his small room.
"…Hello? Miss…?"
Still feigning ignorance, he blinked innocently, wondering why there was an unfamiliar face in their home. Unsurprisingly, it was his father who spoke first. The man's voice was ill-suppressed with excitement:
"Vale, my son, this is Professor McGonagall. From Hogwarts!"
Beside Edmond, Louise rolled her eyes.
"That's an insufficient introduction, dear." Louise turned her gaze towards her son, "Professor McGonagall is a teacher of magic in a school full of wizards. And you, darling, are going to be joining them this September first!"
Viaelle's head tilted to the side, "…Magic? Mother, will I be learning sleight of hand?"
His parents suddenly choked on their excitement. Why did it seem like their son, barely eleven years old, was doubtful of something as wondrous as magic despite them saying it was real?
Luckily, Professor McGonagall was there to answer his question:
"No, boy, you will not be learning simple deceptions like that. Instead, what you will be learning is a more noble art. However, do tell me something…"
Professor McGonagall stepped forward, her strict facade softening ever so slightly as if doubting her own actions.
"Have you ever encountered situations where things break around you, or something odd occurs when you're cross? Perhaps, say, flying objects or shattering window panes? Your parents have said that nothing has ever occurred, however, I have reason to believe otherwise…"
The boy went silent for a moment of thought. Tapping his chin, he looked into the professor's eyes and said:
"No, Professor. Nothing of the sort has ever happened! Why? Should it be happening?"
Professor McGonagall raised her brows, and a faint crease formed on her forehead. Her mutters were just loud enough for the family to hear.
"How curious… But the Quill of Acceptance is never wrong… Perhaps a demonstration will convince you, instead."
Stepping back, the professor straightened up and reached into her sleeve, retrieving a wand — a slim, dark length of wood that was very reminiscent of the woman herself.
With a swish, and a sharp gesture at the brush that Viaelle had just let go of, suddenly a flicker of movement caught everyone's eye. The brush rose into the air, untouched by any human, and added a dash of seaweed, reaching for the ocean's surface.
A glimmer of fascination flashed in the eyes of the muggle parents, while the young boy simply admired the unfamiliar magic with a look of understanding.
"…That's amazing," said the young boy, who, unbeknownst to everyone in the room, had already begun deconstructing the spell.
'It's a burst of intent… of willpower… and of magic. A spell that acts more as an enchantment than an active weapon, most likely. Perhaps I'm beginning to understand why this era was called… eccentric.'
Viaelle's eyes gleamed with excitement. This kind of magic had more possibilities than his own high magic. However, it was a lot less lethal, of course. In the first place, the two types of magic were made for different purposes.
High magic was made to murder and destroy, while the Eccentric Era's spells were made for the sake of its residents — magic that was made for living life!
It was an admirable pursuit, which had unfortunately been lost in the bloody future.
Suddenly, the young boy felt a little wistful. If he changed the course of history, would the world still end the way it did? Could he, a slaughterer and a killer, become a creator?
Could he alter the dying fate of existence?
'…It would make for a dream even greater than what my brother and sister mages could ever cook up. They only wished to survive. To live a better life.'
Look at Viaelle, already dreaming of going against fate.
'Perhaps it's the only kind of dream suitable to atone for the sacrifice of those billions of souls.'
Unfortunately, achieving such a dream was a long way off. First, the day dreaming child had to become a proper wizard. Hopefully, this strict-looking professor of his, who was awfully similar to his mother at times, could guide him through the process.
"…I hope you now understand that the magic we teach at Hogwarts is not as simple as you think. It's complex and requires discipline. Controlling such magic is what I, along with others who are like me, will impart upon you so that you may live as a wizard should."
Professor McGonagall then handed him a cream-coloured envelope, heavy with the papers it stored inside. Feeling its weight, Viaelle watched as the woman in emerald robes turned to walk out of the door.
"Come. Prepare your things, my dear child. You're already a little late to prepare. Summer's at its end, and you'll need your robes as soon as possible."
"...Where are we going?" asked the boy.
"Why, to get your school supplies, of course! You'll find a list of the things you need in that envelope. However, as we're rather pressed for time, you can open it on our way there."
Hearing Professor McGonagall's words, Viaelle couldn't help but glance at his parents, as if to ask if they were really letting him go with a random — albeit magical — stranger. When he saw the excitement in their eyes, he realised that he had already been signed off.
They probably already gave the professor enough cash to get him whatever he needed. As far as he knew, his family was quite rich.
Just looking at his father's respectable Jaguar XJ was enough to figure that out.