Siegfried Fors
"Watch carefully, Erina."
I lifted a finger, letting mana swirl upward like silver mist caught in a breeze. The energy danced in the air before settling into the soft outline of a little bird. Its wings flapped once, pulsing with a quiet glow.
Erina gasped, her eyes wide with wonder. "Do me next! Make me!"
I raised a brow. "You want me to shape you?"
"Mhm!" She nodded, pointing at her horns. "Make me, with these!"
"It's a little difficult…"
Still, I raised a second finger, letting mana coil around it. Slowly, deliberately, I molded the light. A rounded face emerged, tiny, with stubby horns curling from either side and bright, flickering dots for eyes. I added a smiling mouth at the end.
Erina's delighted squeal nearly toppled her from the stool. She clapped her hands furiously. "That's me! That's me!"
I couldn't help but smile.
It's still hard to believe. There was a time, not long ago, when I couldn't shape a single thing, no matter how hard I tried. Even using both hands, I couldn't make anything more than a wobbly blob of mana that fizzled the moment I blinked.
I remember Zayn's smug voice: "That's a shape? Looks like something you'd scrape off your boot."
Mother wasn't any better. "That's adorable. Try again. This time, try to make something that isn't already dying."
They never held back.
But I kept at it. Day after day. Night after night. Through finger cramps, mana fatigue, and an endless barrage of teasing.
Now?
Now I can conjure a creature on every finger if I want to.
I studied the floating mana sculpture of Erina again, noting the shape of her curls, and paused.
"Your hair's gotten longer," I said absentmindedly.
She blinked, touching her bangs. "Mmhmm. I want it even longer!"
I chuckled softly.
An eight-year-old, fussing over hair. Of all things. I guess no world is safe from that.
The door creaked open behind us.
"Good morning, you two," Granny said, stepping into the alchemy lab. "Holiday today, right?"
Erina immediately hopped off the stool and gave a polite bow. "Yes, Lady Fors! It's the last day of the week!"
Granny smiled. "So it is."
This world has its own rhythm. Just like Earth had weekends, we get one day of rest each week, the seventh day. There are thirteen months in a year here and every month has twenty-eight days, though they don't bother naming the months. Just numbers. Right now, it's the fifth month.
My birthday passed not long ago. The 29th of the second month, a rare date, almost as if the calendar itself hiccuped when I was born.
"Now then," Granny turned her eyes to me, voice warm but expectant. "Are you ready, Sieg?"
I felt a little smile tug at my lips. Here comes the main show. Time to put all those sleepless nights and sore fingers to use.
"I'm ready. I've prepared everything," I said, turning toward the table.
"I helped too!" Erina chirped from behind me, scooting forward eagerly on her stool.
Granny nodded her head. "Good job, little one."
I placed the ingredients between my hands, dried frostleaf, powdered resin bark, and the fine silver flakes we harvested last week. As I focused, the air shimmered between my palms.
A golden glow sparked and coiled around the materials, lifting them gently into the air. They spun, merged, separated, alchemy in motion. My hands barely moved. No tools. Just intent.
The resulting solution settled into the curved glass beaker I'd prepared on the stand.
It needed heat now, so I lit the fire beneath it manually.
Still no elements.
Despite meditating every night, despite practicing until my bones ached, I haven't reached Gamma Stage of the Soul Crucible. I still can't call flame or water to my fingers. So I rely on firestones, flint, and patience. I can shape mana, but not elementalize it.
Yet.
Granny leaned closer, peering into the glowing vial. "Oh ho… Great work, Sieg. Truly impressive."
Erina clapped again, smiling from ear to ear. "That was so pretty! The golden light!"
"Can I do that too?" she asked, eyes shining with hope.
I gave her a small smile. "Maybe, if you get better at grinding."
Her face fell dramatically. "I don't like grinding. My hand hurts."
A soft chuckle slipped from me. Granny joined in.
Some parts of alchemy are universal: the magic, the frustration, and the sore wrists.
I turned toward Granny, a question that had been tickling the back of my mind finally rising to my lips.
"Granny… can't I just use an elemental stone to control the elements?"
She paused, humming thoughtfully as she wiped her hands on a cloth. "It's possible," she admitted. "But I wouldn't recommend it."
That caught me off guard.
"Why not?" I asked, brows furrowing.
Without a word, she slipped a ring from her left index finger and handed it to me.
Erina leaned in curiously, eyes sparkling with curiosity. I held the ring in my palm and rolled it between my fingers, feeling the subtle warmth radiating from it.
The gem embedded in the ring pulsed with a dark, rich red.
"…This is a fire elemental stone, isn't it?" I asked.
Granny nodded. "Correct. Found in mana-dense dungeons, where elemental energy gathers in crystal form. The deeper the color, the stronger the stone. That one's quite potent."
As I looked at the stone, the temptation flickered in me. Just for a second, the idea of pouring my mana into it, of summoning flames like Granny, burned behind my ribs.
But I exhaled slowly, pushing the thought aside.
"So then," I asked, glancing up at her again, "why can't I use it?"
"Because you can't feel the elements yet."
"…Feel?" I tilted my head, puzzled.
"To control them, Sieg, you have to know them," she said. "Their presence. Their rhythm. Their weight in your blood. That awareness comes only when you reach Gamma Stage. Without it, you're fumbling in the dark. If you tried to use that ring now, at your current stage…"
She looked at me pointedly. "You'd burn yourself."
Ah.
I stared at the ring in my hand again, at the coiled heat sleeping inside it, and silently thanked Aethelhum I hadn't been reckless.
I handed it back. "Then… why do you use it, Granny? You already have the fire element, don't you?"
She accepted the ring with a soft smile and slid it back onto her finger.
"Unlike your mother and grandfather, I was born with only one element," she said simply. "So I decided to strengthen the one I had."
I nodded slowly, thinking it through. Specializing in one thing, polishing it until it's sharp enough to cleave through anything… it makes sense. But it also means you have fewer cards to play when the rules change.
A strength, and a limitation.
"I want to be a fire mage too," Erina piped up, her voice soft but resolute as she looked up at the ceiling dreamily.
"You need to awaken first," I said, smiling gently.
"I will soon," she declared with a confident little nod.
Then the door to the lab burst open with a loud bang, making Erina flinch in her seat. I turned just as Grandpa strode in, urgency crackling in the air around him like static.
"Elara," he called, voice low but tight, like he was holding back something heavy.
Granny straightened immediately. "What is it?"
He held up a envelope, the edges still sealed with the light blue wax. "Noctyra just delivered this."
My eyes widened at the name. Noctyra, the shadow courier. That's the name of the messaging bird, but not just any bird. Graceful and sleek, just a little larger than a raven, yet slimmer and swifter. Her wings sliced through the air without a sound, not even a whisper of feathers. Most people wouldn't even know she'd passed unless they had sharp eyes or mana-trained senses. They called her the Nocturnal Courier of Shadows and Secrets for good reason. If Noctyra was used… the message was never trivial.
"What happened?" Granny asked, already crossing the room with a sharpness I rarely saw in her.
Grandpa's jaw clenched.
"There was a fire," he said grimly. "A huge one. It tore through parts of Borg Barony."
"What?" Granny stopped in her tracks. Her voice had risen slightly, not loud, but sharp, as if something inside her snapped to attention.
She stood frozen for a moment, the alchemy lab suddenly too quiet, save for the soft crackle of the heating beaker on the burner and Erina's confused gaze darting between the adults.
Borg Barony... The face of a boy whom I met last year and the year before that during harvest festivals came into my mind.
"James..."
The Baron Borg's son. Shy to a fault, but always kind. I remembered how he spoke in hushed tones, as if afraid his words might break something. How he once told me he wanted to become a water mage, not for glory or power, but so he could bring rain when the skies stayed dry. For the farmers. For the children. For his people.
A good heart, wrapped in a nervous smile.
My hands curled into fists before I realized it.
I hope he is safe.
The flames that devoured Borg…
Whose dreams did they take with them?