Siegfried Fors
The gentle creak of leather and the soft hiss of magic greeted my ears as I slipped another thick book into the magic pouch at my waist. I couldn't help but grin. Books that would normally require a handcart now sat weightless at my side. A mobile library—what child wouldn't dream of such a thing? Well... maybe not every child, but I certainly did.
I tugged the drawstring closed, marveling again at the craftsmanship. The magic pouch was Zayn's apology. Or maybe it was a peace offering. I hadn't expected one, certainly not from him.
My fingers lingered on the soft leather. It was well-made, stitched with care and magic. He could have handed me some basic magic tool and called it a day, but this… he went out of his way.
And after much thought, I came to the conclusion that he wasn't exactly wrong.
His method was harsh, too harsh, but I understood the reason behind it. I see that now. He wanted to show me the truth of this world, to rip away the naivety I had been clinging to.
I can't live with my previous life's mindset...
This world, Aethelgia, might have been different in its texture and language, but the rule at its core was no different than the world I came from.
Survival of the fittest.
Whether in the corporate jungle of my old life or the wild, mana-drenched lands of this one, the rule never changed. Only the stakes did.
And I refuse to be prey.
Not again. Not here.
Even if I have to... kill.
"Fuaa…"
A soft yawn interrupted the thought. The small spirit fox stretched on the table, golden eyes half-lidded in drowsiness. I reached out and stroked his fur.
"You always calm me down," I whispered. The fox leaned into my touch with a quiet trill of contentment.
The door creaked open.
"Sorry for being late," Zayn said, entering as casually as if he owned the room.
"It's alright," I said, but even as I spoke, I felt a strange tug in my chest. Not mine. Frustration… anger… not hot and wild, but sharp and cold like a blade just drawn.
I glanced down, or rather, up, as the fox spirit leapt from the table and landed lightly on my head. Its tail draped over my shoulder, and its golden eyes locked onto the older man like a predator sizing up a threat.
"Still angry at me, huh?" Zayn sat down with a crooked smile.
"Can you blame it?" I replied. Since the day Zayn forced me to kill, the fox had also been angry with Zayn, looking ready to bite him.
"True," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Should I apologize to it too?"
Through the bond we shared, I listened to the fox's emotion ripple through me.
"I don't think he's in the mood to forgive you, no matter how much you grovel."
Zayn raised an eyebrow. "Huh. So you can tell how he feels?"
I nodded slowly.
"Somewhat. I've thought about it the last few days. I can feel… all of his emotions."
That was the only conclusion I could reach. The bond wasn't just a leash, it was a tether, heart to heart. I didn't just sense the fox's presence. I knew its moods. Its desires. Its quiet joys and quiet fury.
"Guess that's how spirit contracts are supposed to be," I added. "At least, that's what Mother told me."
"Right," Zayn said, folding his arms.
There was a quiet pause before he asked, "By the way… have you decided on a name?"
That question again. Everyone had been asking me that since the festival. A name. For him. Not 'it.'
I looked up at the fox, who was now curled atop my head like a smug, warm crown. I'd thought about it for days, quietly, without saying anything. But now…
"Faux," I said softly. "That'll be his name."
I reached up, stroking his chin. He let out a delighted purr and nuzzled into my palm. My chest warmed. I could feel it so clearly. He loved it.
"Well," Zayn said with a grin, resting his chin in his palm, "as long as he's happy."
I looked back at Zayn. "So why did you ask to meet me in the library? Aren't we supposed to be doing sword practice today?"
"Ah… my head's spinning a little," he muttered, rubbing his temple as he slumped into the chair. "Had a bit too much to drink yesterday."
That was strange. I'd seen Zayn drink before, plenty of times, in fact, but not once had I ever seen him hungover. He usually acted like liquor was just flavored water to him.
"Now I understand where Valka got her drinking habits from…" he mumbled under his breath. "Five bottles of Tsipouro…"
I narrowed my eyes slightly. Tsipouro? That strong wine Granny only let out during harvest festivals?
For some reason, I had no desire to dig deeper into that story.
"So what are we doing today then?" I asked, shifting in my seat, brushing Faux's tail off my cheek as he stretched across my head like a lounging crown.
Zayn straightened up abruptly. "Right. We don't have time to waste."
Time to waste… He's right.
Only three days left before he'd be gone again. I'd asked him about it once, why he vanished for so long, why he only ever visited once a year. His answer?
"As a great S-Rank adventurer, I take some impossible missions, so I'm busy with them most of the year."
In other words, he came and went like a storm, too wild to be caught, too brief to forget.
Zayn clasped his hands together, his expression suddenly serious. "Focus. Look here."
I looked up from the edge of the table, attention sharpening.
"Listen closely. Right now, you're in the Beta stage. Most people at this point either meditate to push themselves to Gamma, or they spend their time rotating mana through their bodies to improve flow and capacity."
"So… are those methods wrong?"
Silas, and nearly everyone else in the manor, had said the same thing. Rotation. Meditation. Breath and flow. I'd been practicing those methods diligently ever since I awakened.
"No," he replied firmly. "They're not wrong. You'll still be doing all of that. But in my opinion…" his fingers tapped together, "before you even think of entering the Gamma stage, where elements awaken, you need full control over your mana. Not just flow, control. Absolute mastery."
My brow furrowed. "Absolute mastery?"
"It means," he said, pushing back his sleeves, "you'll be doing a special exercise."
He leaned forward and placed his hands above the table.
Zayn's palms faced each other, hovering slightly above the table surface. His fingers curled with subtle tension as a faint shimmer of mana began to gather between them. At first, it was like smoke, ethereal and formless, but then it deepened into a rich, dark blue aura that pulsed with a slow, deliberate rhythm.
My eyes widened as two trails of mana stretched from each palm, twining in mid-air like silken threads of magic. They converged… and began to take form.
An outline appeared first, smooth, agile, familiar.
A fox entirely formed from condensed, flowing mana hovered between his hands, its tail flickering like flame, its ears perked and sharp.
"Woah…" I couldn't stop the word from slipping out.
Faux, still resting on my head, leaned in too.
Zayn smirked. "This is called Mana Shaping. Most people at your level can't even stabilize a sphere. But I want you to go beyond that. I want you to shape your mana into any form you can imagine, animal, object, whatever. I don't care if it's crude at first."
"I'm going to teach you how to do this," he said. "Not to show off, but to command your mana like it's an extension of your will. And that's the foundation you'll need before facing the elements."
I nodded slowly, heart pounding with excitement.
Mana shaping… The idea of molding pure magic into tangible forms… it was exhilarating.
The fox dispelled as he moved his hands away. The mana dissolved into tiny blue motes that danced for a second, then vanished.
"Your turn," he said.
I took a slow breath and placed both of my hands on the table, mimicking Zayn's posture. Faux curled tighter around my head.
Alright… focus mana into your hands. Shape it. Simple enough.
Or so I thought.
I furrowed my brow, drawing in the mana from my Soul Crucible. I could feel it swirl inside me, warm and steady… but the moment I tried to push it outward, into my palms, it fizzled. I clenched my jaw, focused harder.
A faint flicker of light sparked between my hands… and died with an unimpressive pfft.
"…Tch."
I glanced up to see Zayn stifling a laugh. His hand covered his mouth, but the amusement in his eyes was impossible to miss.
"Don't look at me like that," I grumbled, heat rising to my cheeks.
"I'm not judging, I swear," he said, raising both hands in surrender. "It's just… you looked so serious, and then… pfft." He mimicked the little mana fizz with an exaggerated gesture, and I glared at him.
He leaned back. "Alright, alright, don't kill me with your eyes. You're rushing it. Step by step," he said gently. "Begin with drawing mana to your palms. No shaping yet."
I nodded.
Zayn straightened up and raised one finger. "Now, this… is the final step. Don't even think about copying this yet, just watch."
Mana flowed from his fingertip, soft at first, then denser, like liquid smoke. From his index finger, it coiled out and shaped itself mid-air into a small, sharp-eared fox. The fox hovered, paws extended like it was leaping.
Then, he raised a second finger. Mana surged, and a galloping horse materialized, its mane rippling, legs frozen mid-stride.
With a third finger a coiled serpent, its tongue flicking out, then into a sharp-beaked falcon spreading its wings, then a bear, then a dragonling, each transformation more detailed than the last.
One finger after another, the air filled with beasts made of mana. Shapes born of will alone.
"That," I breathed, "is incredible."
"Just control," he said simply. The magic faded.
He dispelled the magic with a snap, letting the creatures dissolve into faint glimmers of blue.
"But you'll be able to do this too," he said, looking at me not with pride, but certainty. "I'm not teaching you tricks. I'm teaching you foundation. And with your talent and enormous mana pool, Sieg, you can reach this level."
I looked down at my own hands.
They trembled slightly, not from fear, but anticipation.
Faux on my head let out a soft "fuu," as if encouraging me.
"Right…" I whispered. "Let's try again."
The next three days passed quickly.
Mana control with Zayn during the mornings, alchemy and theory with Granny in the afternoons. Some evenings I'd spend helping Grandpa with little chores around the manor, or just sitting by the porch listening to Mother's stories.
Zayn didn't slack off either. He spoke with Silas before he left, asking him to keep up my sword training. When Mother overheard and dismissed it with a scoff, "Swordsmanship doesn't matter for someone from Fors," Zayn had countered without hesitation: "Not true. A noble should always know how to defend themselves. Especially a Fors."
That shut her up, even if only for a moment.
The days were warm, familiar. Peaceful.
Which made the morning he left feel heavier than it should have.
We all stood by the front gate of the manor. The sun hadn't climbed all the way yet. Zayn's bag was slung lazily over his shoulder, and his adventurer's coat fluttered in the morning breeze. "Geez, you guys are being too dramatic."
"Would you prefer we didn't show up at all?" Granny folded her arms, squinting at him.
"Actually, that would've made it easier to sneak out."
"Try sneaking off again and see what happens," she shot back.
Grandpa chuckled beside her. "Now, now, let him go. He's about to get busy."
Mother crossed her arms, her gaze flat. "Tch. I didn't even wanna come say goodbye…"
"Sure," Zayn winked. "You'll miss me the most."
"Not in this lifetime."
I stood quietly between them all, hands in my pockets, trying not to think too hard.
Why does it feel… heavier than I expected?
From my memories, Zayn always came and went. I knew he would leave. It was normal. But this time, maybe because I was different, and with all the time we spent together, all the things that happened—the apology, the early morning practices, the Faux and stories—it felt different.
Faux stirred on my shoulder. The little spirit let out a low "fuu," rubbing its soft face against my cheek. I could feel his emotions like a gentle ripple in my chest, soft, warm, but tinted with something like… concern.
You feel it too, huh?
I raised a hand and scratched Faux behind the ears.
Zayn looked at me finally.
He didn't say anything right away. He just walked forward and placed a hand on my head, ruffling my hair, then tapping my forehead lightly with a knuckle.
"You've got a long road ahead, Siegfried," he said, grinning. "So don't go turning into some broody magic hermit while I'm gone."
"No promises," I replied.
He laughed. "Good. Keep practicing that control exercise every single day. You'll hate it. That means it's working."
"I know."
"And tell Faux that I'll try to earn forgiveness."
"We'll see."
He nodded once, satisfied, then turned around without another word.
He started down the path. The wind caught the edge of his coat again, lifting it like a banner behind him. He raised one hand and waved, not turning back, not slowing down, just a simple, wordless goodbye.
Everyone watched him go in silence.
I stood there for a while, even after the others left, my eyes following his back until it vanished past the horizon.
He would be gone for a whole year. Thirteen months. I'd be older next time he came. Stronger. Maybe.
I reached into my pouch, the one he gave me, and touched the edge of the grimoire he left behind.
Faux nudged against my cheek again. I smiled faintly.
"I'll be ready next time," I whispered. "No matter what."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of pine and distant earth. The manor behind me stood tall and quiet. Ahead of me, just the road.
Days blended into weeks, then months. Training, study, laughter, frustration. Life moved.
Before I knew it, two years went by.