"Caelan. It's me. Can I come in? We need to have a serious talk."
The Duke's voice.
Caelan froze. His gaze darted from the door to the desk, where a pencil lay on a sheet of paper. Its tip was faintly smoldering, leaving a thin, acrid smell of burnt wood in the air.
"No! You can't!" he cried out, his voice thin and frightened.
He shot up from his seat, grabbed the warm pencil, and, without thinking, darted to the window. With one swift motion, he pushed it open and threw the evidence into the darkness of the garden.
"Caelan? Are you alright in there?" the Duke's voice came again, this time with a note of concern.
"Yes!" Caelan answered, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. He closed the window, walked to the door, turned the heavy brass handle, and opened it.
The Duke stood in the hallway. His broad shoulders and tall stature completely filled the doorway, blocking the light. He didn't look angry, just a little tired. His gaze fell on Caelan, and he frowned slightly at the boy's tense expression.
"May I?" he repeated softly.
Caelan stepped aside in silence, letting him pass. The Duke entered the room, and it immediately seemed smaller. He took a faint sniff of the air.
"What did you want?" Caelan asked.
The Duke didn't answer right away. He walked past the fireplace and sat down in the chair at the desk—the very one Caelan had just vacated.
"A strange smell," he mused. "Like burnt wood."
Caelan decided not to lie.
"I was practicing," he answered quietly, looking down at his hands.
A faint but warm smile appeared on the Duke's face.
"Good," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "But next time, do it outside. And please, not in the room."
He paused, his expression growing serious.
"I came to warn you. Tomorrow, my family is arriving."
Caelan looked up at him.
"My wife and my sons."
The Duke saw the boy's shoulders tense ever so slightly, his gaze growing even more focused. He smiled softly.
"Don't be afraid," he said quietly, his voice losing its authority and becoming almost fatherly. "Sit."
He gestured to the bed opposite his chair. Caelan sat down obediently.
"They are good people," the Duke continued. "Though my wife, of course… has some fire in her. As for my sons… The eldest, Darian, is my heir. Very serious and responsible. The younger one, Leo… he's different. Quiet. Very shy."
The Duke paused for a moment, then added, looking at Caelan with a warm smile:
"A bit like you."
The Duke's words were unexpectedly warm. "So, there are recluses like me in this world too?" the thought flashed through Caelan's mind, bringing a faint, internal smile.
He looked up, latching onto the one puzzling detail in the Duke's story, and asked with perfect childlike innocence:
"What does… 'has some fire in her' mean?"
The Duke smiled, but differently this time. His smile was filled with warmth and memories. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and his blue aura, which until now had resembled a calm haze, suddenly began to move faster. Its currents grew brighter, warmer.
Caelan felt it physically. The air in the room seemed to grow warmer, and this warmth wasn't coming from the fireplace behind him, but directly from the man across from him. The warmth of pure, undisguised emotion.
"It means that in her presence, you always feel warmth," the Duke began, his voice growing quieter, more personal. "Sometimes, it's pleasant, like a hearth in winter. And sometimes… it's the kind that can burn if you get too close. My wife, Auriya… she is passionate in everything. In love, in anger, and especially—in magic."
He looked at Caelan, a deep understanding in his eyes.
"You've seen Lianna. How she… flares up. Auriya is the same. Only a thousand times stronger."
At these words, Caelan involuntarily flinched. He remembered the chill that had shot through his hand from just Lianna's startled cry. To imagine that power, magnified a thousandfold, was impossible. His childish face momentarily clouded over with undisguised horror.
Seeing his reaction, the Duke let out a quiet, good-natured laugh.
"Don't worry," he said reassuringly. "Unlike our daughter, Auriya has learned to control her impulses. For the most part."
Caelan relaxed slightly, but the horror in his eyes gave way to a deep, analytical curiosity. He was trying to comprehend the scale of power being discussed.
"How… strong is she?" he asked quietly.
Hearing this question, the Duke leaned back in his chair, and his aura, which had been merely warm before, flared even brighter. It was pure, undisguised pride.
"She is an S-rank mage, Caelan," he said, his voice laced with steel. "The only human who wields the blue flame. And one of only two known beings on this continent to do so."
Caelan seized on that detail.
"Two? Who is the other?"
"Grandmaster Baldrim Stonefist," the Duke replied with reverence. "A dwarf. He dedicated his life to the forge. They say he spent three hundred years at the furnace, trying to create the perfect blade. In the process, he conquered not just metal, but fire itself. Remember that family sword I showed you? It was his work."
He paused, his gaze softening again, becoming more personal.
"Auriya… she achieved the same in an instant. She simply walked through fire… You will see for yourself."
He stood up, signaling that the conversation was over, and walked over to Caelan.
"The most important thing you need to know is to be honest with her. Auriya can't stand lies, but she values courage."
He reached out and paternally ruffled the boy's ashen hair. The gesture was unexpected and warm.
"You and Leo will probably find common ground. As for Darian…" the Duke smiled. "Just try not to lose to him too quickly in fencing in the future. He doesn't like that."
The Duke left, closing the door softly behind him.
Silence filled the room. Caelan walked to the window and opened it, letting in the cool evening air. His gaze fell to the garden below, to the exact spot where he had thrown his pencil. The darkness had already swallowed it.
"Tomorrow will be the hardest day of the six days of my new life," a cold, factual thought flashed through his mind.
[Days Since Reincarnation: 6]
[Date: 10.09.1650]
The sun was already high in the sky the next day. Caelan walked down a wide, sunlit corridor, returning from the training grounds. He absentmindedly clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling the familiar ache in his forearm muscles. "You need muscles to swing a real sword," Kira had calmly explained to him today. "Magic is important, but it's useless without a strong body."
The entire night, before falling asleep, he had exhausted himself again. This time, he had only managed to create three spheres before darkness took him. The mana cost for the complex instructions for the pencil had been colossal. But now, even after his morning training, he felt that his internal reservoir hadn't just recovered—it had deepened.
"I wanted to try for ten spheres last night. I had a feeling I could make it," he thought as he turned a corner. "But that wouldn't have been a clean experiment. So today, no magic. Absolutely none. Tomorrow morning, I'll test my true limit."
A familiar figure appeared ahead. Elias was waiting for him by the grand staircase that led to the main hall.
"It is time, Master Caelan," the butler announced calmly. "They have arrived."
Caelan nodded silently and followed him. They stopped at the top landing of the stairs, which cascaded down in a wide sweep of marble.
Below, in the sunlit hall, the Duke was already present. He had just greeted his family, and the scene was filled with a warmth Caelan hadn't expected. The Duke was holding a woman in a vibrant, flame-red traveling dress in a tight embrace. It wasn't the formal hug of aristocrats, but the sincere gesture of two people who had deeply missed each other.
She laughed, and her laugh, deep and infectious, echoed through the hall. Her aura was as blue as the Duke's, but that was where the similarity ended. It didn't shimmer calmly; it blazed. It blazed with the same dazzling intensity of the blue flame he had seen in the garden when he touched the sword. On one half of her face, a lacework of thin, silvery scars stretched from her cheekbone to her temple. Similar marks were visible on her hands and neck. She didn't hide them; they were as much a part of her as her brilliant smile.
Beside her stood two young men. The elder, Darian, was tall and slender, his posture an almost exact copy of his father's. His deep blue aura was calm and confident, but there was something different in its movement—the currents of energy resembled licks of flame, yet they gave off an elusive chill. The younger, Leo, stood slightly behind his brother as if hiding in his shadow. His aura was calm, almost still, reminiscent of the priest's cold tranquility, but a faint warmth smoldered in its depths.
Slightly to the side, giving quiet orders to the servants carrying in luggage, stood a woman. She was dressed in the same immaculate livery as Elias and resembled him so closely she could have been his twin sister.
The Duke finally released his wife and looked up, noticing Caelan. His face lit up with a soft, warm smile, and he gave a subtle nod, beckoning him to come down.
Elias placed a hand on Caelan's back, gently nudging him forward. Caelan took the first step down. At that moment, all eyes in the hall turned to him. Darian watched with a cool, appraising curiosity. Leo raised his gaze as well, but as soon as their eyes met, he instantly dropped his back to the floor.
But Auriya's gaze…
The moment their eyes met, the world slowed down for Caelan. It wasn't like panic. It just suddenly became very quiet. All he could hear was the frantic, dull thud of his own heart in his chest, beating out an incomprehensible, primal rhythm. The air around him seemed to thicken, becoming viscous, like hot plastic.
There was no anger in her eyes. There was pure, concentrated energy, as if he were staring into the heart of a star. He didn't fall, didn't scream. He simply froze on the step, his face pale, his breath caught in his throat.
The Duke was the first to notice Caelan's state. He instantly took a step forward, his massive figure physically blocking the line of sight between his wife and the boy frozen on the stairs.
"My love, you must be tired from the journey," he said, his voice calm and considerate. He nodded toward the butler. "Elias has already prepared everything in the small drawing-room. Let's go have some tea."
But Auriya gently yet firmly pushed his arm away. She didn't even glance at him. Her gaze, filled with an intense, almost scientific curiosity, was once again fixed on Caelan.
She completely ignored her husband's suggestion and took a step toward the base of the staircase.
"Is this him?" she asked, her blazing eyes never leaving Caelan. Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the silence of the hall like a heated dagger. "The elf that Ellard told me about?"
The Duke sighed heavily. His plan for a gentle, gradual introduction had just been shattered by his wife's impatience. He realized she would not back down.
"Yes, Auriya. It's him."
Having received confirmation, Auriya began to slowly ascend the stairs toward Caelan. Her movements were fluid and graceful, like a lioness approaching something unknown.
"Move. Why won't my body move?" Caelan's mind screamed. But his feet felt as if they were rooted to the marble. He watched her approach, saw her blazing aura grow brighter, but he couldn't stir. "Why is my body so afraid? It's not fire. It's just a person!"
She stopped on the step below him, so their eyes were on the same level. Her warmth—not magical, but a real, physical heat—enveloped him. She smiled, and there was no threat in that smile. Only pure, undisguised curiosity.
"Interesting," she murmured, her velvety voice seeming to vibrate in the very air.
"You are not afraid of me. You are afraid of the fire you sense within me."
"Who are you, little child, to know its language so well?"