The night after the charity gathering that nearly became an urban legend felt quieter than usual. The Grand Hall had returned to order, the guests had gone home with strange stories they would retell again and again, and other clans had already begun laughing it off as "an experiment in modern magical art." But for Severin and Anneliese, that night was far from over.
Severin walked quickly through the underground corridors of Wanger Castle, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. There was tension in his shoulders, not born of anger, but of a mind endlessly replaying the events in the hall. Every small mistake, every uncontrolled emotional response surfaced again and again. Strangely, the tightness in his chest no longer felt entirely painful.
Anneliese followed at a more relaxed pace, carrying a small lantern that cast a soft golden glow. She studied Severin's stiff back and smiled faintly. "You know," she said lightly, "if you keep walking that fast, you are going to run into a wall."
"I have memorized this corridor," Severin replied automatically.
"Of course," Anneliese said. "I forgot you memorized the stones too."
---
The corridor ended at a plain stone door with no carvings. There were no clan symbols, no official seals, only a thin seam running down the center. Severin raised his hand, pressed his palm against the stone, and took a breath.
"This room," he said quietly, "was built for training that goes… wrong."
Anneliese turned, intrigued. "Wrong in what way?"
"In the sense," Severin paused, choosing his words, "of not being perfect."
It was a small admission, almost inaudible, yet enough to make Anneliese glance at him with a gentler expression. The stone door slowly opened, revealing a circular chamber with a low ceiling. Its walls were marked with faded magic circles and old cracks. The air inside was warm and calm, like a space accustomed to holding mistakes without judgment.
Pauline was already there, sitting at the edge of a magic circle with a notebook on her lap. Theodora stood near the wall, her eyes closed, as if listening to something no one else could hear. Dietrich stood stiffly near another doorway, and to Severin's frown, a plump gray cat sat calmly beside his feet.
"You brought… a cat?" Severin asked.
Dietrich looked down, a little awkward. "It followed me."
The cat let out a soft meow, then began licking its own leg, as if a secret ritual chamber were its living room.
---
"This room is shielded from major resonance," Pauline explained as she stood. "If something goes wrong, the impact stays contained."
"That sounds like the perfect place for you," Anneliese said, glancing at Severin.
Severin did not argue. He stepped into the center of the magic circle and carefully placed his staff down. "A small ritual," he said. "Basic synchronization. No additional effects."
Dietrich nodded, then looked at the cat. "Stay here, all right."
The cat meowed again and then, of course, walked straight into the magic circle and sat right in the middle.
Everyone froze.
Pauline covered her mouth, holding back laughter. Theodora opened her eyes and regarded the cat calmly. "It feels invited."
"I did not invite a cat," Severin said tensely.
Anneliese shrugged. "Maybe the circle is friendly."
---
They decided to proceed anyway, on the condition that Dietrich be ready to pull the cat out if anything looked suspicious. Severin began reciting the opening incantation, his voice measured and careful, though the flow was softer than usual. He forced himself, with great effort, not to correct every small vibration that felt wrong.
Anneliese stood opposite him, raising her hands as complex calculations spun through her mind. Numbers fluttered like restless birds, yet she resisted the urge to smile when one angle drifted slightly off.
Light began to form on the floor, slowly merging. The magic circle pulsed gently, like a steady breath.
The cat looked up.
The first magical effect appeared not as an explosion, but as thin threads of light clinging to the cat's whiskers. It let out a startled meow and shook its head, sending the light scattering like tiny shimmering ribbons.
"Is that normal?" Pauline asked.
"No," Severin replied quickly. "Very much not."
---
The light spread, wrapping around the cat's body, then in a way that was entirely unscientific, made it appear… larger. Not larger in a threatening sense, but like a cat photographed from far too close. Its eyes widened, its fur shimmered, and its tail left glowing question mark trails whenever it moved.
Dietrich froze. "I am going to die, am I not?"
Anneliese burst out laughing, honest and unrestrained. "Relax," she said. "It looks magnificent."
Severin covered his face with one hand. "This is not part of the ritual."
The cat jumped, landed lightly, and then quite magically split into two identical cats for one second before merging back into one.
Pauline sank to the floor. "I am writing this down."
Theodora smiled softly. "It is not distressed," she said. "It is enjoying itself."
---
Severin lowered his hands, breathing heavily. Normally, at this point, he would have stopped the ritual, canceled everything, and started again with new calculations. This time, however, he paused, watching the cat chase its own glowing shadow.
"The effect is… stable," he murmured.
Anneliese looked at him, surprised. "You are not angry?"
Severin fell silent. He felt the familiar urge rise, the need to fix, erase, and redo. Alongside it, though, was something else. Amusement, and curiosity.
"It is a small error," he said at last. "And it is harmless."
Pauline grinned widely. "Did Severin von Wanger just say that?"
Dietrich hugged his cat once it finally returned to normal, though its fur still shimmered faintly. "I am naming it 'Small Error.'"
Anneliese laughed again, and this time Severin did not measure the duration.
---
They continued the ritual in a more relaxed rhythm. The light kept pulsing, sometimes drifting, sometimes realigning. There were moments when Severin almost corrected Anneliese's movements, then stopped and let them flow. There were moments when Anneliese misjudged an angle and simply shrugged.
The result was not perfect. But it was stable.
When the ritual ended, the magic circle faded slowly, leaving the room with a comfortable warmth. There were no explosions, no mass transformations, only a cat now sleeping soundly with softly glowing fur.
Severin sat on the floor, exhausted. He looked at his own hands and allowed a small, almost invisible smile.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, "not every mistake needs to be erased."
Anneliese sat beside him, her shoulder brushing his. "That is a great deal of progress."
In that hidden room, among the remnants of magic circles and the gentle purring of a glowing cat, Severin von Wanger felt for the first time that imperfection was not an enemy to be conquered, but a part of magic he had simply never learned to understand.