Noah didn't stay in bed for long. He got up, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. Too lazy for a morning shower—he'd bathed before bed anyway—he dressed in clean, well-kept clothes, combed his hair, and prepared to head downstairs to begin the ritual.
But when he stopped in front of the secret passage, his hand froze before pulling the book that opened it. With a sigh, he turned around and, with a faint smile, left the house.
He visited the bakery on the corner and returned. But instead of entering his own home, he stopped at the neighbor's door and knocked.
Mrs. Margaret opened, looking surprised, but her face lit up when she saw Noah.
"Good morning, Mrs. Margaret. Looks like I came at the right time," he said, catching the smell of coffee drifting from inside.
"Good morning, Noah. Please, come in. Everything's already on the table," she replied warmly.
It wasn't common for Noah to have breakfast at the neighbor's, but from time to time, at her insistence, he gave in.
"Is Anna still sleeping?" he asked, sitting down.
"What else does she do? Until school starts again, she only sleeps," Mrs. Margaret muttered. Then, as if something occurred to her, she added, "But don't you worry. I'll make sure she grows into a proper housewife. So hold off on finding another bride."
Noah almost spat out his coffee. "Don't say that! Isn't your daughter eight years old?"
"She'll grow up. Don't be so modest—you two will make a lovely couple."
Noah laughed and dropped the subject, though part of him knew he would miss this. He'd never had friends, and his grandfather had been his only family. Sometimes, when loneliness pressed down on him, he thought maybe having a family or friends wouldn't be so bad, even if it felt as impossible as casting true magic.
Mrs. Margaret was the closest thing to family he had left. Whenever he returned from a trip, she would bring cakes to his door or invite him over for dinner.
Noah placed the fresh bread he had bought on the table, and they shared breakfast. They talked about little things—she asked how he was doing, passed on neighborhood gossip (apparently the man at the end of the street was keeping a mistress), and mentioned something odd she'd seen the day before: a group of women, dressed like tourists, walking down the street.
It was a simple conversation. The kind Noah sometimes wished he had more of.
But he couldn't stay forever. He had to move on—chasing his dream, carrying the legacy his grandfather had left behind.
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Margaret," he said, his voice carrying a weight that made her raise an eyebrow.
"Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye? Are you leaving on another trip?" she asked.
Noah thought for a moment before answering. "Something like that. But this one might take a little longer than the others."
"I thought you said that strange staff was the last," she sighed. "Don't you want to go to school? Live a normal life? I know you feel like you have to chase all the strange things your grandfather did, but you don't have to."
Noah didn't answer right away. Did he want to go to school? Probably. Did he want a normal life? Definitely not.
Math, history, geography… he had learned the basics at the orphanage and on the road with his grandfather. Traveling so much had taught him more than classrooms ever could.
What he truly wanted was magic. To live in a world of magic, to claim his freedom.
As he sat in silence, Mrs. Margaret leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. He didn't resist. At first startled, Noah slowly lifted his own arms and hugged her back. He hadn't known how much he needed that until now.
When he finally left her house, his eyes were damp. So were hers. Perhaps by instinct, a mother's intuition told her this might be the last time they ever spoke.
Back home, Noah went straight toward the secret room. But before he could enter, a knock at the door stopped him.
Did Mrs. Margaret forget to say something? he wondered. But when he opened it, it wasn't her.
A young woman, maybe twenty years old, stood on the porch.
"Can I help you?" Noah asked with a polite smile.
"Is this John's house?" she asked, but her eyes wandered past him, peering inside.
"John? No, you must be mistaken," he replied lightly.
"Really? What a shame," she said, turning as if to leave. But she paused and looked back. "I'm thirsty. Could I have a glass of water?"
"Of course," Noah said without hesitation. "Come in, sit on the couch. I'll get it."
He closed and locked the door after she stepped inside. She sat on the sofa, and he went to the kitchen. His hand trembled faintly as he filled a glass from the tap, but he steadied himself before returning.
"You have a lovely home," she said when he came back.
"Thank you. Here's the water."
But she didn't drink it. She set the glass on the table untouched. Noah chuckled and said:
"You can drink it. I didn't poison it… Witch."
Her expression shifted instantly. The innocent smile vanished, replaced by the cold face of a killer.
"How did you know?" she asked, her voice sharp as steel.
Noah rubbed at his aching eye. "That necklace is beautiful. Did you kill someone for it? Or just sleep with a priest?"
He meant the golden crucifix that hung at her neck. But unlike his bracelet, her crucifix was upside down—with a figure nailed to it.
"Insolent brat!" she spat. "All witches are pure. No man is worthy to touch us!"
Noah clenched his fist, glaring straight at her. "Pure? You filthy whores would sell your bodies for a handful of coins."
That was the last she could take. She screamed and lunged at him.
But Noah was ready.
His foot kicked out, toppling the glass. Water splashed across her face, and at once she shrieked. The liquid hissed on her skin, smoke rising as if it were boiling hot.
Noah didn't waste the chance. He leapt at her, gripping her chest. "Tremble!" he commanded, channeling his magic just as he had with the stone at the lake.
Power surged from his hand into her body. She convulsed violently, blood spilling from her lips as she crashed to the floor.
If the runes had been working, she'd be dead. Without them, she was still alive. For Noah, every ounce of mana had to be used sparingly. Exhaustion meant death.
And now he knew for certain—the witches had come for him.
Before he could bolt, a sound came from the door. More were here.
They must have sent her first, to scout or strike quietly. But now they realized something was wrong.
"Damn it!" Noah cursed, sprinting toward the hidden passage. But before slipping inside, he turned to face the entrance one last time.
Clutching the crucifix on his bracelet, he whispered words in a language that sounded like Latin.
The door burst open. Two witches stepped inside. Noah's hand shot forward.
"Animas eorum Deus sanctificet lumine sancto!"
The bracelet blazed with golden light, flooding the house. Screams tore from the witches as if they were burning alive. But it wasn't their flesh that burned—it was their souls.
Noah didn't wait. He spun, darted into the passage, and sealed it behind him. Darkness closed in as he stumbled down the steps, almost tripping, but never falling.
The moment had come at last.
Hope or despair—now it was all or nothing.