Siegfried Fors
"My butt hurts," I groaned, slumping into the carriage seat like a deflated sack of grain.
Grandpa chuckled from across me. "Want to sit on my lap?"
I gave him a flat look. "No, it's fine," I muttered, adjusting my position with all the dignity I could muster. I didn't want to be a bother, even if my backside felt like it had been flattened by a boulder.
We'd been traveling for over nine hours straight. The trip to Borg Barony took almost two full days, and aside from a brief twenty-minute breakfast break at a sleepy village crossroads, the wheels hadn't stopped turning. The road was relatively smooth, but that didn't make it any less miserable on the backside.
Granny was silent, her gaze fixed outside the window. She hadn't said much since we left. The wood-carved staff rested beside her, but she hadn't so much as touched it. Her face was calm… but distant. Not the sharp, always-commenting Granny I was used to.
Grandpa was no different, eyes closed, arms still crossed. Normally, he'd be telling stories, but now he was just... still. The quiet felt strange. Almost heavy.
I turned to the window. Endless stretches of forest blurred past, swaying gently in the breeze. Surrounding the carriage were the seven knights, riding in a loose diamond formation. They were like a living wall of steel and motion; their dark green cloaks billowed as they rode, the sunlight glinting off their armor. They looked… cool. Like heroes out of a book.
One of them noticed me watching and smiled. It was the red-haired one, sharp features, crimson eyes, a grin that could probably make a room of noble ladies faint.
Honestly, if I were a girl, I might've squealed. He is quite handsome. I'll admit it.
I quickly pulled away from the window and plopped back into my seat.
Faux was asleep on my head, his legs and tail dangling down, a soft snore escaping him.
I reached into my magic pouch and pulled out the grimoire Zayn had given me. The leather was warm and familiar in my hands. I flipped through the pages until I found where I'd left off.
Mana Weave
Mana Weave is the foundational art of manipulating raw mana into tangible, albeit temporary, forms. Unlike mana shaping, which changes mana into intangible constructs, Mana Weave directly solidifies the ambient magical energy, or the caster's own reserves, into shimmering, semi-corporeal constructs. These creations are not made of physical matter; they are pure magical force, given momentary shape and density.
Shimmering Visage – All mana constructs share a distinctive, ethereal appearance. They glow faintly with the caster's mana color, be it silver, gold, blue, violet, or otherwise, and possess a translucent, almost watery quality, like solidified light.
Tactile but Ephemeral – Mana constructs can be touched, felt, even used, but lack true physical permanence. A mana shield might block a sword with a soft thrum and flash of light, not a clang of steel.
Sustained by Will – They require constant concentration and mana. Lose focus, and the construct flickers out instantly.
Hmm… didn't sound too difficult. I'd already mastered mana shaping and could cast Tier 3 Verse spells like Magic Canon. This felt like a natural step forward.
I held out my hand and focused, guiding mana into my palm.
A shimmering green glow gathered there. I pictured a knife, simple, thin, sharp. The blade formed, glowing faintly with my mana. I tried stabbing it into the seat,
flicker.
It vanished the moment it touched the cushion.
"Tch…"
Again, I pulled mana, forging a knife of pure light. Again, I struck. And again, the tip dissolved into nothing. I tried again and again, but the mana's stubborn refusal to become tangible only intensified my resolve.
I flipped the page in the book.
"A great amount of mana must be invested in the construct, more importantly, it must be guided by clear intent."
Right. Intent.
It's the most important part of magic. Without clear direction, without knowing exactly what you want, the spell won't work. No matter how much mana you pour into it, if your vision is fuzzy, the result will be too.
I closed my eyes and focused again.
Knife. Not just a glowing blade, something sharp, balanced, made for cutting. I imagined its weight in my hand, the chill of its edge, the reflection of light on its surface. A real weapon, not a vague glow.
Mana surged into my palm. I shaped it slowly, deliberately.
When I opened my eyes, the construct in my hand was clearer, brighter, more defined. It still glowed faintly green, but this time, it looked like a real knife, if still translucent.
I stabbed downward again.
The seat resisted. The tip didn't vanish this time, it held, trembling, flickering… but it held.
A smile tugged at my lips.
It wasn't sharp enough to cut through, not yet. But it was real. Solid. I could feel it. Not perfect, but it held. My first true step into a new spell.
A thrill ran through me.
I shut my eyes again, breathing slowly. And then again. And again.
Excitement surged through me like a second wind.
I kept practicing.
Hours passed unnoticed. I lost track of time, lost in the rhythm of shaping mana, adjusting my focus, pouring intent into every flicker of light that formed in my hand.
Suddenly, a jolt shook the carriage.
I snapped out of my trance, the glowing knife in my hand vanishing into sparks. My eyes opened blearily, trying to adjust to the shifting colors outside. The sun had dipped past the trees, bleeding orange across the sky, the edges already turning dark, shadows growing long and deep.
We'd stopped.
I looked from Grandpa to Granny. Both of them stared out the window, silently. Then a knight approached, a different one this time. He had long, dark green-haired tied behind his back and a calm, composed expression. When he leaned toward the window, I noticed the silver insignia on his shoulder, he was a captain.
"We are here, Lady Fors," he said with a respectful bow of his head. "According to the scout party who went ahead, there are no monsters in the location."
Here?
I blinked in confusion. We shouldn't be anywhere near Borg yet. We were barely halfway by my estimate.
"I see," Granny said. "Please circle around the area. I want confirmation—no beasts within a hundred strides."
"We will." The knight gave a sharp nod and turned back, barking quiet orders to the others.
Granny turned to me then. Her voice was soft but firm. "We'll be setting camp here. Come on, let's go."
I stared at her, then turned back to the window. The fading orange sky cast a warm, melancholic hue over the land. It was dangerous to travel after dark, I knew that. Monsters grew bolder at night, especially in the wilderness.
Still… something felt off. It was too early for camp.
Grandpa reached out, helping me down from the carriage with a grunt and a warm pat to my back. My legs wobbled slightly from sitting so long, and my rear protested again. He laughed under his breath, and looked around.
What awaited me outside wasn't what I expected.
The air was still, and the land around us was silent. And before us…
Ruins.
It was not a campsite, it was the skeleton of a village.
Crumbling stone walls stood like broken teeth jutting from the ground. Shattered roofs lay half-buried in vines. Houses had caved in on themselves, and twisted iron fences lay rusting and forgotten. What little remained was being slowly devoured by nature, green creeping over grey, reclaiming what was left.
It felt... haunted.
"Welcome, Sieg," Granny said quietly, "to my old home."
What?
My gaze shot back to her, stunned. This, this ruin, was where Granny had grown up?
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
Before I could speak, Granny stepped forward. Her pace was slow, almost trance-like, her eyes locked ahead as if something unseen was calling her back.
Grandpa and I followed behind her, our boots crunching gently against dry grass and cracked stone.
I edged closer to Grandpa and asked under my breath, "Grandpa… what is this place really? What happened here?"
He didn't answer right away. His brows drew together in thought, as if choosing the right words took effort. Then, his voice came low, heavy with memory.
"Do you remember… a long time ago, I told you about the monster that nearly destroyed our barony?"
I nodded slowly.
The name came to mind like a whisper: Beast of Cataclysm.
I'd heard it in stories from Silas and the older soldiers. They said it came from beyond the sky, an entity not of this world. A monster that shattered reality where it stood.
The year was 1230. Eleven years ago.
A shadow fell across the world.
A beast fell from beyond the stars and shook the very continent of Aethelgia. Death and destruction and silence followed it.
I looked around again at the wreckage, and suddenly it made sense.
"The monster didn't destroy this place directly," Grandpa continued. "But it drove the monsters and magic beasts mad. They surged across the land in a rampage. This village was one of the first they found."
So that's what happened.
Not the Beast itself, but what it unleashed.
Granny's steps finally stopped.
"I'm back," she whispered.
I stepped to the side to see past her, and my breath caught.
Before us was a field of gravestones.
Hundreds of them. Some old and cracked, others new and well-maintained, all lined up in rows among the tall grass. The orange sky behind them cast long shadows across the earth. Wind blew through the overgrown grass, rustling like whispers.
Granny moved slowly, carefully, until she reached a particular stone. She knelt down in front of it, brushing away a few fallen leaves and vines.
Her hand reached out and traced a name etched into the stone.
"…Alara."
Her sister.
I remembered now, Granny once mentioned her name when I was younger, a woman with a laugh like spring wind and a temper worse than mother's. She rarely spoke of her.
Behind me, Grandpa finally spoke again, his voice low.
"By the time we arrived… after securing our own lands, it was already too late."
He stared at the graves, his jaw tight.
"We… weren't fast enough."
Granny didn't speak. She just sat there, fingers still on the gravestone, back straight but somehow… small. Like the years she carried had suddenly caught up to her. So different from the powerful woman who ran our barony and brewed miracles in her alchemy lab.
A hollow ache bloomed in my chest.
I'd never seen Granny like this, so vulnerable, so… quiet.
I wanted to say something. Anything. But I didn't know what to say.
So I stood beside her.
A minute passed in silence.
Then, clang!
The sharp sound of metal snapped both me and Grandpa out of our thoughts. We turned to see the same dark green-haired knight approaching us.
He glanced at me first, his eyes catching mine for just a second, before shifting toward Grandpa. He stopped a respectful distance away, placed one hand over his chest, and gave a slight bow.
"We've finished setting up the camp, Lord Fors," he reported.
Already? It had barely been ten minutes since we arrived. The tents, supplies, perimeter wards, everything, done? Back at the barony, the soldiers would still be arguing over who gets to hammer the first stake into the ground.
I guess… that's the difference between knights and regular soldiers.
Grandpa nodded, arms still loosely crossed. "Thanks for your hard work. Go rest, you've earned it."
The knight dipped his head again, his voice smooth. "We are simply fulfilling our duty."
With that, he turned and strode back the way he came, his silhouette fading between the trees and ruins.
"Duty…" Grandpa murmured under his breath, not sounding pleased.
I turned to look at him, curious, but his face was unreadable. Still, there was something in his tone, worn and bitter, like the word itself tasted bad.
Behind us, we heard movement. Granny stood up slowly from the grave, brushing dust and grass from her knees. She turned toward us, her expression composed, but her eyes held that lingering melancholy only I seemed to notice.
"We've got an early morning tomorrow," she said, her gaze settling on me. "Eat and sleep early."
I bit back a sigh. There it is again.
I knew I was eight. Physically, at least. But sometimes, most of the time, it felt frustrating to always be treated like a child. My legs were sore, my head full of thoughts, mentally drained from practice… and yet I still wanted to stay. Not because I was tired. But because...
Because I didn't want to leave her like this.
Granny turned her back again, facing the gravestones.
"Both of you go ahead," she said. "I'll come later."
Grandpa stepped forward. "What about you?"
She didn't answer right away.
Their eyes met, just a glance, but something silent passed between them. An understanding I wasn't part of. Then Grandpa turned to me with a soft smile and extended his hand.
"Let's go, Sieg."
I hesitated.
My eyes drifted back to Granny's figure. Her black hair shimmered faintly under the twilight sky. The breeze stirred her cloak. She looked like a statue, quiet and lonely amidst the graves.
I didn't want to go.
Granny must've sensed it. She turned around again and stepped toward me. Her sharp eyes softened as she approached. Then she raised her hand and ran her fingers gently through my hair, tucking a few strands behind my ear.
"Are you worried about me, my dear Sieg?" she asked, voice low, a little amused.
I hesitated a second longer… then nodded. "I am."
Her lips curved into a small, real smile.
"I see," she said quietly.
She turned to Grandpa, who was watching us silently. "I'll take him with me."
Grandpa arched a brow. "Are you sure?"
Granny nodded.
"I am."
She extended her hand toward me.
I didn't hesitate this time. I reached out and took it.
Her hand was warm.
And for some reason, holding it made the world feel just a little less heavy.
I hoped it was the same for her.
Grandpa gave one last look, then turned and walked back toward the camp, leaving me and Granny to follow a narrower path that branched off from the graves. We walked in silence, our steps crunching softly over cracked stones and overgrown weeds.
I glanced around as we passed more remnants of the village. Time hadn't just passed here, it had swallowed this place whole. Collapsed roofs buried in vines, walls half-standing like broken teeth, trees growing where homes once stood. Just as I turned to ask Granny something, she stopped abruptly.
I looked up at her, then followed her gaze to the left.
An empty patch of land.
No, not completely empty. There were faint outlines of a ruined foundation, blackened stone at the base, and the rotted remains of what must have once been a house.
"What's wrong?" I asked quietly.
Granny didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on that piece of ground for a few seconds longer than necessary.
"…It's nothing," she said softly, and gave me a small smile. But it didn't quite reach her eyes.
We continued on. Eventually, the path curved, leading us past where the village once ended. Trees began to thin, light seeping through the branches. And then...
—I saw it.
Tucked at the edge of the woods, like a forgotten secret, was a cabin.
It rose out of the earth not like a structure, but like something that had grown there over the years. A squat, weathered little house made of dark, knotted logs stacked tightly together. The wood had faded with age and rain, but held strong, defiant against time. The roof was crooked, slanted in odd angles, shingled with uneven wooden slats, some loose, others missing. Still, it held.
A short line of stone steps led to the front door. The planks were dark and scarred, but the iron hinges still gleamed, catching the last golden light of the evening. Someone had carved a few humble patterns into the wood around the frame, spirals, leaves, a sunburst. They weren't intricate, but they spoke of care… of pride.
There were no windows facing us. Just that solitary door.
The house stood beside a massive tree, its roots bulging from the ground like coiled limbs, its branches reaching protectively overhead. Shadows from its leaves danced gently across the roof. Nearby, a slumped wooden fence leaned at awkward angles, half-rotted and broken. Wildflowers had claimed the cracks between the old stones, blooming in reckless defiance of decay.
There was quiet here. Not silence, but… serenity.
The kind that lingered after a long farewell.
It was the only house still standing.
Led by Granny, we climbed the stone steps and came to a stop before the door. She didn't reach for the handle right away. Instead, she just stood there, staring at it.
Like she wasn't sure what she'd find inside.
Or maybe… she was sure.
And didn't want to be right.
She finally took a breath and pushed the door open.
A low creak echoed as it swung inward.
Darkness.
Nothing else.
Just emptiness.
Granny exhaled slowly. "…Empty. As expected."
We stepped inside. The air was thick and dry, like it had been holding its breath for years.
Granny lifted her hand, murmuring an incantation under her breath.
"Will of flame, light our way."
A small orb of fire flared to life, hovering above her palm before floating up to settle near the ceiling, casting a soft amber glow across the room.
I looked around.
There was nothing.
No furniture. No shelves. No tools. No personal items.
Just dust and wooden walls.
"Whose place was this?" I asked, my voice low in the stillness.
Granny didn't speak at first. She walked a few steps ahead, hand trailing lightly across one of the empty walls.
"This," she said, "belonged to my teacher."
Teacher?
Oh, right. I remembered now. Granny had mentioned her before. A woman she held in high regard. Someone she rarely spoke of, but when she did… her tone always changed. Like reverence tucked inside every word.
"Everything I know about alchemy came from her," Granny continued softly. "No… not just alchemy. Even magic itself. She was a great person."
I looked around the empty cabin, then back to Granny.
If her teacher was so great… why had she lived all the way out here, alone at the edge of the forest?
An image flashed in my mind, something pulled from movies in my old world. An old, crook-backed woman, wild hair, strange herbs hanging from the ceiling, muttering spells in solitude. A witch, shunned by the village.
It felt… cool. And a little scary.
Still, I kept my thoughts to myself, crafting my words carefully before asking, my voice laced with innocent curiosity.
"Granny… did she live out here alone?"
Granny chuckled softly, a sound touched by old memories. "She lived here for her own sake, and for the village's. She liked the quiet, said the air out here helped her think. And…" she paused with a smile, "she conducted a lot of experiments. Exploding potions, melting floors, once even made her house glow green for a week. After a while, she just decided it was safer to live outside the village."
So… she was one of those mad scientist types.
Granny continued, her voice gentler now. "But everyone adored her. She helped folks whenever she could, healing the sick, mending broken limbs, brewing medicines. My father was a hunter, but I liked reading more than tracking deer. She noticed. Said I had potential… and took me under her tutelage."
She smiled at the memory, eyes shimmering with something between joy and ache. "Everything I know… everything I am now… is because of her."
I stayed quiet for a while, then finally asked, "What happened to her?"
Granny's smile faltered. Her jaw tightened.
"She…" Her voice dropped. "More than twenty years ago, the 'Faith of Aethelhum' came. Said they were looking for her. I don't know what they talked about, but I remember the screams… the sounds of magic… the fire."
Her hands curled into fists.
"She fought. Killed several Aethel Knights." She paused, eyes shadowed. "And then… she vanished. Just like that. No letter. No goodbye. Nothing."
The firelight flickered against her face, catching the tight line of her mouth.
"If those selfish Aethelhum dogs hadn't come sniffing around, she'd still be here. And maybe the village—" She stopped herself, her gaze shifting suddenly to me.
She exhaled, softening.
"Let's not talk about such things." She gave a small shake of her head, as if brushing off the weight of the past. "I just wanted to check this place. That's all. Come on, your grandpa's probably wondering where we've gone."
I gave her a quiet smile and reached for her hand.
"I understand," I said.
And I did. Even if she didn't say it outright… it wasn't just the teacher's disappearance that left scars. It was the chain of everything that followed.
As we stepped out into the cool night air, we didn't speak again. We just walked side by side, her hand warm in mine, the stars slowly blinking into view above us.
And behind us, the old cabin stood quiet once more, like a dream folded back into the woods.