The manor's back gate creaked open as Leon arrived, basket in hand. Dahlia was waiting, bouncing on her toes. "He's in the study! Come on—Flower's already there."
She led him through quiet corridors, the air thick with the scent of candles and polished wood. In a sunlit room, a man sat at a table, sipping tea. He had white hair—unusual for someone who looked no older than Garin—and a five o'clock shadow, his eyes sharp and curious. Beside him, Flower leaned against the wall, looking bored.
"This is Leon," Dahlia said. "He makes the best cake in town—and he brought breakfast!"
The man looked up, smiling faintly. "Im. The mage you've been hearing about." He nodded at the basket. "What's this? More cake?"
"Buns," Leon said, setting the basket down. "Steamed with meat filling. And fried eggs, ham, bread. I thought you might like something savory." He handed Im a pork bun, his hands slightly shaky. "I… I heard you're a mage. From the capital."
Im took a bite, his eyes widening. "This is excellent. Far better than the feast last night." He finished the bun, then looked at Leon. "You're interested in magic?"
"Everyone is," Leon said, trying to sound casual. He glanced at Flower and Dahlia, who were already eating. "Stories say mages can do amazing things—control fire, move objects with their minds."
Dahlia nodded eagerly. "Can you turn bread into rabbits? Or make flowers grow?"
Im laughed, a deep, warm sound. "No rabbits, I'm afraid. Magic isn't tricks—it's manipulating the energy around us. But…" He reached toward the table, and a slice of bread lifted off the plate, floating toward him. With a flick of his wrist, a piece of ham landed on top of it. He took a bite, grinning. "Sometimes it's useful for lazy breakfasts."
Leon froze. Floating bread. No strings, no tricks—just pure, unadulterated magic. This was real. He thought of Eldrin's stories, of the ruin, of the white light. "That's… mage hand," he said, barely breathing.
Im raised an eyebrow. "You know the term?"
"From a travel book," Leon lied. In truth, it was the stuff of his former life's fantasy novels—but seeing it in person was breathtaking. He remembered the wicker ball in his pocket, and an idea sparked. "I… I made something too. A 'fireball.'"
He pulled the ball out, along with a stick coated in phosphorus. "Watch." He struck the stick against the stone floor, sparks flying, and lit the fuse. He tossed the ball toward the door, shouting, "Fireball!"
It rolled a few feet, then exploded with a loud "boom," sending flames and smoke billowing. Dahlia yelped, jumping back, while Flower laughed. Im's eyes narrowed, then crinkled with amusement.
"Gunpowder," he said. "Clever. Where did you learn to make that?"
"Books," Leon said, cheeks heating. "And experimenting with herbs."
Im nodded, impressed. "Resourceful. Most children your age are too scared to play with fire, let alone make explosives." He leaned forward, his voice lowering. "You're not just curious about magic, are you? You want to learn."
Leon's heart raced. "I… my master. He spent his life searching for magic. He told me about a ruin, about a white light that erased his name. I want to understand it. To honor him."
Im's smile faded, his eyes growing serious. "Eldrin. I've heard of him. A healer who vanished for years, then returned with no name." He paused. "Magic is powerful, Leon. Dangerous. But… you have a sharp mind. And courage."
He stood, walking to the window. "Tomorrow. Come back tomorrow. I'll teach you the basics—how to sense energy, how to move small objects. But only if you promise to be careful. Magic isn't a toy."
Leon nodded, his throat tight. "I promise."
As he left the manor, the morning sun warm on his face, he felt a surge of hope. For years, he'd felt adrift, torn between his modern self and his life in Etho. Now, he had a purpose. A chance to learn magic, to uncover Eldrin's secrets, to honor his legacy.
He looked toward the Whispering Forest, toward the ruin that waited. One step at a time, he thought. One spell at a time.
The journey had only just begun.