"Well, hello there, lad!" Tael repeated, squinting at Kibo. His voice was raspy but vibrant, like the persistent crackle of dry logs in a hearth. "You're Kibo, the new boy, aren't you?"
Kibo stood a half-step behind Era, as if seeking shelter, and offered only a small nod.
"Come in," the old man said, retreating into the depths of the house.
Shelves lined the walls, crowded with jars, gnarled roots, and bundles of herbs dangling from the rafters. On the table lay strange feathers, ink pots, and ancient parchments covered in unknown sigils. The air inside was warm, thick with the scent of earth and dust.
"Sit," Tael gestured, pouring tea from a kettle into a clay mug. "Will you have some tea?"
Kibo nodded tentatively. Era stood by the wall, silent and observant. Kibo took the mug with both hands and took a sip. The brew was bitter, but it carried a deep, spreading warmth.
"Now then, this will feel strange, but it won't hurt. I promise," Tael warned.
"You promise?.." Kibo whispered.
"I do," the old man replied calmly. "Good, you've finished your tea. Now, lie down on that stone bed."
In the corner stood a rectangular table made of warm, smooth stone. Kibo lay down cautiously, feeling the heat seep into his back. The stone smelled of tea and something faint, almost intangible.
"Take a deep breath," Tael instructed, placing a palm on the boy's chest. "And do not be afraid."
His fingers were dry and wiry, yet not rough. They didn't seem to touch his skin so much as pass right through him—like a breeze through autumn leaves. Kibo flinched. Everything inside him seemed to coil and rise—a ringing sound awoke in his chest. Faint, but insistent.
"I see... I see..." Tael murmured, leaning closer. "You are not empty. And you are not simple. Someone has touched you. Something remained..."
"Do you mean... magic?" Kibo breathed.
"I mean a scar," Tael said solemnly. "You are like a tree struck by lightning. You survived... but now there is a crack within you. And—"
He suddenly jerked his hand back. His face went ashen. His wrinkles tightened like pulled strings.
"Oh... no," he whispered, stepping back as if he had been burned. A look of profound dread crossed his eyes, as if he had glimpsed something far too vast beyond the veil of reality.
Era was instantly on guard. She stepped forward, glanced at Kibo, and said sharply:
"Outside. We need to talk."
Tael nodded, casting one last look at the boy. At the door, he turned back:
"Wait here. Do not worry."
The door clicked shut, leaving Kibo in the silence.
The room suddenly felt too quiet. The light from the window was soft, yet it felt alien. The shadows of the hanging herbs trembled on the walls, as if the air itself were shivering.
Kibo sat on the edge of the stone bed, looking around warily. His gaze fell on the door where Tael and Era had vanished. Muffled voices drifted through—loud, frantic, as if they were arguing, but the words remained blurred.
He frowned.
"Why... why did he say that?" Kibo whispered. "What did he see? Why 'Oh... no'?"
He clenched his fingers and looked at his chest, right where the old man had touched him. It was silent now. But deep down, something was still humming, as if someone were tapping gently on a wall, trying to find a way out.
What is wrong with me? Am I... sick? Or just... wrong?
He didn't know, but he felt it—something had changed. Since that day. Since that moment. And he feared that he didn't yet know what he was becoming.
The door creaked. Kibo startled and sat up straight.
Tael entered first, his face smoothed into a calm that felt far too forced.
"You are a remarkable boy," he said, a trace of sorrow in his voice. "Remember that. For now, rest. Get used to the village. Tomorrow will not be any easier."
Kibo didn't answer. He only nodded.
On the way back, Era was silent. She only nodded to the villagers who watched them pass with inquisitive whispers. One boy even pointed a finger and hissed something to his mother. Era ignored them all.
When they reached the house, she went straight to the shed without taking off her shoes, grabbed a long hoe, and headed for the garden. Kibo lingered on the threshold, watching.
He hesitated, then called out softly:
"Miss Era... can I... can I come with you?"
She didn't answer. She didn't even turn around, just kept walking, leaning her weight into the hoe. Kibo lowered his gaze. A sharp pang hit his chest—shame. He turned to go back inside...
"Pick up the hoe and come here," her voice rang out.
He looked up. Era was still facing away, but her voice was clear. Kibo smiled—a small, heartfelt thing. He ran to the wall, grabbed the heavy, old tool, and hurried to the garden.
They worked in silence. He dug as best he could—clumsy, crooked strokes, occasionally dropping the heavy wood. The earth was packed tight, and his arms soon grew heavy with exhaustion. But he pushed on—straightening his back, dusting himself off, continuing.
Era watched him out of the corner of her eye. She offered no praise, but she did not stop him.
When the work was done, she said:
"Fetch water. From the well. There's a bucket."
Kibo nodded and ran.
The well was old, with a timber roof and a creaking chain. He gripped the bucket with both hands, lowered it, waited for the splash... and hauled it up. Water slopped over the edges, but he was grinning—this was his first real act of help.
He brought the bucket back. Era took it silently, checked the level, and said nothing. But a flicker of approval touched her eyes.
After the chores, she filled a large wooden tub with water, added dried herbs, and commanded:
"Go. Behind that screen. Wash up. Then we eat."
He flushed red but obeyed. The water was lukewarm, smelling of wild fields. He splashed awkwardly, feeling self-conscious, but he endured it. Afterward, he put on the clean clothes left on the stool and stepped out.
Dinner was a thick soup—mushrooms and greens. The scent was rich, cozy, and tasted of home. Kibo ate slowly, a smile tugging at his lips.
"It's good. Very good," he said.
Era simply nodded. But she noticed his smile was real this time. And again, something tightened in her chest.
Before bed, she laid out his blankets in the corner—simple but clean. She placed a pillow scented with mint under his head. He lay down, exhausted, full, and... at peace.
Era stood by the door for a long time, watching him breathe. Soft. Steady. As if all of this were merely a dream.
Then she climbed to the second floor and opened the window. The night was cool and fresh. The moon reflected in a bowl of water on the windowsill.
Only now did she allow herself to remember her conversation with Tael.
...They had spoken in hushed, jagged tones for several minutes. The old man's voice had been laced with dread; hers with stubbornness. Only fragments remained in her mind, echoing in the dark.
And at the very end, his heavy, chilling words:
"...If this is true, we have very little time."
Era closed her eyes tight. Then, with a heavy weariness, she shut the window and lay down. But sleep did not come.
Kibo woke the next morning to the rhythm of raindrops. A steady, gentle rain, as if someone were carefully dusting the sky over the roof. The room was still dim—early morning. The air smelled of damp wood and spice.
He lay there for a long time, listening to the rain whispering against the glass. Finally, he sat up, pulled on the wool sweater left on the chair, and tiptoed out of the room.
The kitchen was empty. The stove was already glowing; someone had tended the fire before him. On the table sat a bowl of porridge covered with a cloth, beside a wooden mug of warm infusion. Era was already awake.
He ate in silence, watching the rain soak the garden beds through the window.
The sound of the door made him jump. Era entered, stripping a sodden cloak from her shoulders. She hung it on a peg and looked at him.
"You're awake."
"Yes..." he replied softly.
She moved to the stove, added wood, and wiped the droplets from her face.
"After breakfast, the shed. You'll help with the pickling. No more hoeing for you today—not in this rain."
Kibo nodded. He wanted to ask—about Tael, about the "Oh... no"—but his courage failed him.
The shed was damp but cozy. Walls were draped in bundles of herbs, and barrels stood in the corners. On the table were knives, clay bowls, and roots—parsnips, radishes, onions. Era showed him how to peel them, how to layer them with salt and dried cumin.
They worked in a heavy silence, broken only by the crunch of the knife and the dry rustle of salt.
"Um..." Kibo began, "have you... lived here long?"
"All my life," Era said without looking up.
"And... Tael? Is he..." Kibo hesitated. "Is he strange?"
"Strange?" Era looked at him. "Perhaps. But mostly, he is just old."
She didn't smile, but she wasn't angry. She simply was who she was.
"What did he see yesterday?" Kibo blurted out, unable to hold it back any longer.
A long pause followed.
"I don't know," Era replied eventually. "But it is too soon for you to worry about such things. Work."
He nodded and continued. But the thought remained, scratching at the back of his mind like a dry branch against a window.
By evening, the wind had died down. Era looked at him and said:
"Go for a walk. But stay near the river road. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
Outside, the air was cool. The rain continued as a fine mist. The village felt quieter than usual, the smell of woodsmoke and fresh bread drifting from the houses. He walked slowly, listening to the gravel crunching beneath his feet. In the distance, the stream roared.
Kibo stopped.
He raised his hand. Looked at it. Then he closed his eyes... and tried to summon that feeling he'd had when Tael touched him.
And... the ringing returned.
A faint, barely perceptible hum—as if a spark still lived deep within his marrow.
He opened his eyes.
"What... what are you, inside me?" he whispered.
Nothing happened. With a sigh, Kibo continued his path.
He stopped by the river, watching the water swirl around the stones. Everything here felt strange and... alive. Almost magical.
A puff of white vapor escaped his lips as he exhaled. The air over the river was heavy and damp. Suddenly...
"Hello!" a bright voice chirped behind him.
He jumped and spun around. A girl of about ten stood there, with fluffy blonde hair and a face full of freckles. She held a basket filled with pinecones and moss.
"What's your name?" she asked directly.
Kibo looked at her warily. His stomach did a nervous flip.
I've never talked to other children... What do I do? What do I say?
"Um... Kibo," he managed at last.
"Ha! That's a cool name," the girl giggled.
He nodded, falling silent again.
"It's pretty here, isn't it?" she said, looking at the water.
"Yes," he replied softly. "Very."
She crouched by the water's edge.
"I come here a lot. I like listening to the stream talk. You know, if you sit still long enough, it starts telling stories. Just... in its own language. A rustling sort of language."
Kibo raised his eyebrows. He hadn't expected words like that.
"Really?"
"Of course!" She smiled. "Adults don't hear it. They just fetch the water. But we... we listen."
She paused.
"...Though one time I heard it grumble: 'Leave me alone, I'm covered in frogs!'" She giggled at her own joke.
Kibo offered a shy smile. His first real smile of the day.
"The forest is across the river," she said, her voice dropping. "The real forest. The path goes deep into the moss. No one lives there... but someone does."
He frowned. "What do you mean... someone?"
"Oh, I don't know," she shrugged. "Maybe magic rabbits. Or forest spirits. Or a very, very old mage who grows mushrooms on his head."
"Or maybe it's just make-believe. I just like to think the forest is alive."
Kibo said nothing, but a warmth spread through him. He didn't know if he believed in mushroom-headed mages, but he wanted to.
"Thank you," he said suddenly.
"For what?"
"Just... for talking to me."
The girl stood up and stretched.
"If you want, I'll show you the bridge tomorrow. And there's a log you can use to cross to the other side, if you're not afraid of falling in."
"I'll try," he nodded.
"Good! See you, Kibo," she smiled. "Now run along, or Miss Era will say you're splashing water instead of working."
She winked and ran off, her basket bouncing in her hand. Kibo watched her go, and for a moment... he thought he heard the stream whisper something back to him.
The next day, Kibo returned to the river. The rain had stopped, but the sky remained a bruised grey. He walked with a light heart, hoping to see the girl again.
And she was there. But she wasn't alone. Three village boys stood around her, their voices mocking. One poked a finger at her.
"What, making friends with the outsider now?" one sneered. "Aren't the normal kids good enough for you?"
"She crawled right to him," another added. "Telling him about the river like she's a baby."
"Leave her alone!" Kibo shouted, running toward them. His voice wavered, but he stood his ground.
The boys turned.
"Oh, look who it is."
"You think you're smart, outsider?"
"You think you're a hero?"
One of them shoved Kibo hard. He lost his footing and fell, his palms slapping into the mud and wet leaves. He grit his teeth.
"Kibo!" the girl cried. She tried to step forward, but the boys blocked her path.
"Shut it!" one snapped at her.
Kibo pushed himself up on his elbows. His chest was pounding. It felt as though someone were hammering from the inside out.
He hissed through his teeth: "You... you have no idea... what I've been through..."
"What?"
"What did you mutter, brat?"
And then Kibo screamed—it was less a shout and more an explosion of sound:
"YOU HAVE NO IDEAAAA!!!"
A wave seemed to ripple through the air. A dark, violent surge.
Then—blackness.
When he came to, the sky was still grey, but terrified faces blurred above him. The boys were staring at him in sheer horror before they turned and bolted.
The girl—Anna—stood nearby, trembling. There was fear in her eyes... and something else.
"Do you... do you remember what you just did?" she asked quietly.
Kibo tried to speak, but his chest felt like it was full of molten lead. The pain was agonizing, an inferno behind his ribs.
"AAAH..." he gasped, curling into a ball.
Rapid footsteps approached. Tael emerged from the trees, breathless, gripping his staff. He glanced at the empty clearing, then at the girl.
"You! Did you see anything strange? Answer me!"
The girl swallowed hard. "He... he just screamed. And then... there was a flash. And... everything stopped."
Tael grit his teeth. "This... this stays a secret. Do you understand?"
She nodded.
The mage carefully lifted Kibo into his arms. The boy was unconscious. Anna watched them and whispered:
"Thank you... and... my name is Anna."
Kibo, his eyes still closed, offered the ghost of a smile. He had heard her.
Tael carried him back to Era's house. She met them on the porch, her face pale with worry.
"What happened?! Is he—"
"No words. Inside. Fast!" Tael barked.
He laid Kibo down and uncorked a small vial of dark liquid, pressing a few drops to the boy's lips. Kibo groaned, but his breathing steadied.
Finally, in the parlor, Era and Tael sat down. Kibo slept nearby, his brow damp and pale.
"I didn't think... I would have to tell him this so soon," Era whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor.
Tael nodded grimly.
Hours passed. The lamp flickered, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. Kibo's sleep was fitful—he winced and muttered in the dark.
Tael stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Era sat at the bedside, weary but vigilant.
"He's settled," Tael said finally. "But it's temporary. Something is growing inside him... and it isn't ordinary power."
He paused, turning to her.
"Era... you are hiding something from me."
She stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Who did he see before his magic woke? Who was there? I know you have an idea."
Silence.
Then, reluctantly, Era whispered: "He... he talks about it in his sleep. A man in a violet cloak. Wearing a mask. He appeared before the city fell. He just stood there... watching. And then came the fire. The screams."
"A mask?" Tael repeated. "Not a mage? Not a soldier?"
"I don't know..."
The old man stepped to the bed and looked down at Kibo.
"Then he survived a meeting with him. Perhaps this man left a mark... intentionally... or by accident."
"How?"
"It is only a theory... but I believe that explosion was a release of raw mana and force."
The healer stood tall, his expression grim.
"I need to speak with that girl again. She saw what happened at the river. I need to understand what kind of magic he unleashed. No one in the previous generation of mages held power like this..."