Elfie’s Perspective:
My eyes didn’t blink for a long ti.
I couldn’t.
The candle near the desk flickered softly, the only thing moving in the library aside from the turning of pages. The orphanage had grown quiet—everyone asleep. But not .
Not when he said he wanted to fly.
It had already been four hours past bed ti.
I was still reading.
My eyes were dry, a little sore, but... I didn’t care. My hand gently turned the next page of the elental basics book. I had flipped between it and Celestara’s spellbook so many tis, my fingers were starting to go numb.
But the more I read... the more everything started to click.
The elental book said sothing earlier—
"Elental magic exists as the bridge between the body and nature. Unlike Celestial magic, which calls upon the soul, or Cursed magic, which feeds on pain—Elental magic is cast through internal energy and external visualization."
"Visualization..." I whispered, eyes narrowing.
That was the trick.
You had to see the spell happen in your head—believe it fully. Imagine the air flowing, moving, dancing to your thoughts... and then release it.
It said that children usually couldn’t do it until 10 or 11, because their ntal worlds weren’t strong enough.
But mine was.
Because my world—my entire little heart—was focused on one thing.
Kai.
He wants to fly.
So I’ll make that happen.
I closed the elental book for a mont and pulled the heavy Celestara to toward , my hand brushing over the ancient symbols glowing faintly with silvery magic.
The book had no titles. No numbered pages. Just strange text, spells, and sketches of constellations, dragons, storms.
And then—One section changed everything.
There were diagrams... showing wind swirling with a strange silver light. Underneath, symbols representing celestial sigils circled the wind, empowering it.
A note scratched beneath in the sa glowing script:
"The Soul may amplify the World."
I blinked.
Celestara... she mixed them.
She used her celestial soul to empower basic elental magic. That’s how she beca more than what magic was ant to be.
My heart raced.
That ans I could do it too.
That I might be able to make a wind strong enough to lift sothing heavier... even just a little.
My pink eyes sparkled at the thought.
Because then... then Kai could fly.
"Wait for , Kai..." I whispered again, hugging both books to my chest. "I’ll make your dream real. Even if I break myself doing it."
It was 1:12 AM.
I snuck outside with both books, holding them tight to my chest.
The sky was dark. No moon tonight. Just a sea of stars. It felt like they were all watching , waiting to see if I could do sothing impossible.
I picked the side field near the edge of the hill, away from the sleeping dorms. I opened the book again, holding the spell in my head:
Wind Spiral – Modified
Celestial Amplification: Tier 0 Fusion.
I whispered it to myself, trying to see the spell forming like the book said. In my mind, I imagined the wind wrapping around silver light, like a ribbon spinning upward.
Then I held out my hands.
"Let the sky know my heart..."
A puff of wind escaped.
But it wasn’t enough.
I tried again.
And again.
And again.
Nothing.
Just soft wind. Weak. Pathetic.
I clenched my teeth. My arms trembled. The candle I brought flickered. My fingers were covered in ink and dirt now. My lips were dry.
I don’t even rember how many tis I cast the spell. Maybe fifty. Maybe a hundred.
But...
I kept going.
I had to.
Because I wanted to see him smile again.
Because I wanted to make him fly.
It was 5:03 AM.
The sky was turning gray-blue. The stars had mostly faded now, hiding behind the sun’s arrival.
I had collapsed to my knees. My whole body ached. My vision blurred. My arms had little scratches from falling. My pink hair stuck to my face from sweat and tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.
"...Co on..." I whispered, trying to hold up my hand.
The spell fizzled again.
I dropped my arm, too tired to even cry.
And then—
"Elfie."
I flinched.
I turned around, weakly wiping my face.
He was there.
Kai.
Standing at the top of the hill, hair a bit ssy, eyes half-lidded, probably still sleepy.
But he was looking at .
He started walking.
My legs gave out fully, and I sat on the grass. The wind brushing gently past my cheeks.
He reached .
And without saying anything...
He knelt beside and looked at my dirty, tired face.
"...Why are you like this?" he asked softly.
I blinked up at him, trying to smile, but it hurt. "...Because I promised. I promised I’d make you fly."
He looked up at the sky with a sigh, then back down.
"You’re insane, you know that?" he muttered.
I giggled through the pain. "Maybe... but only for you."
He shook his head and sat down next to .
"...You didn’t have to go this far," he said.
But I did.
I had to.
Because no one else ever would.
He just didn’t understand that yet.
I broke down.
I couldn’t hold it anymore.
My tiny fists clutched his sleeve tightly, and I buried my face into his arm.
"I’m sorry... I’m sorry, Kai..." My voice trembled between hiccups. "I said I’d do it... I said I’d make you fly... but I... I can’t..."
Tears flooded my eyes again, spilling down my cheeks and soaking into his shirt. My chest ached, not from the spells, not from the cold wind... but from failing him.
He didn’t pull away.
He just sat there quietly, letting cry into him.
"It’s okay, Elfie," he said gently, like always.
But it wasn’t.
"No, it’s not!" I cried louder, shaking my head. "You’ve always protected , always made smile, even when I forgot what smiling felt like! You never asked for anything—not even once—and this one ti... this one ti you wished for sothing and I couldn’t do it...!"
I couldn’t breathe. The words stumbled out between gasps.
"I’m worthless," I whispered. "I’m not special... I’m not..."
Before I could finish, I felt his hand lift to my face, and his thumb gently wiped my tears.
"You’re not worthless," he said coldly, yet kindly. "You’re the only one who even tried."
His voice didn’t sound like pity.
It sounded like truth.
But still... my throat clenched. I sniffled and rubbed my eyes, now puffy and red. I had no strength left in .
I sat there, curled against him, my sobs turning quiet.
The sky was brighter now.
My breath was shaky. My body trembled. My mind... hurt.
My eyes drifted half-shut. I knew I looked awful—eyebags deep under my eyes, ink stains all over my hands.
Kai sighed beside .
"...Even if you’re a genius, Elfie, flying through magic like that..." he said calmly, "it might be impossible."
My body flinched.
"No," I stuttered. "It’s possible."
He turned slightly, glancing down at . "What do you an?"
I reached behind , dragging the heavy Celestara book onto my lap, flipping toward one of the open pages. I pointed to it with my shaking finger.
"There..." I murmured.
Kai leaned forward to get a better look.
His eyes narrowed.
Drawn across the parchnt were dense strings of numbers, symbols, and arrows—an equation that bent and curled into itself, like a spell written through dinsions.
It looked sothing like this:
(ϕ ∇λ) × E = α^2 {𝓌¹ (∂Θ / ∂t)} δΩ(mₛ²) - lim[n→∞] Ψᶜ(ξ)
I don’t even know what any of it ant.
But I knew it was important.
"Celestara wrote that," I whispered. "She... she used to mix her elents and celestial magic, all inside her head. She’d see the world like a giant math problem and... and turn it into a spell."
I looked up at him again, my voice cracking:
"I don’t know how she used to think like that... I want to—but I can’t..."
Kai’s expression didn’t change.
But he picked up the book and held it in both hands, staring at the formula, deep in thought. His eyes, usually cold, sharpened with a kind of silent interest.
I watched him.
Sowhere, deep in my heart, I hoped.
Because even if I couldn’t do it...
Maybe he could read her like I couldn’t.
Because together—maybe we could reach the skies.
Kaiser’s Perspective:
I glanced at the trembling small figure beside . Elfie—eyes red, tear-stained—but still clinging to the book. Sothing inside humd: protectiveness.
She believed. Desperation mingled in her aura. I allowed myself empathy, a rare human flicker in my calculated world.
My gaze shifted back down to the equation on the page. Celestara’s formula—a labyrinth of numbers, symbols, and arcane terms—beckoned for order.
I drew in a breath, then exhaled, peeling apart the layers.
Inner Monologue: The Equation
(ϕ ∇λ) × E = α² [𝓌¹ (∂Θ/∂t)] δΩ(mₛ²) − limₙ→∞ Ψᶜ(ξ)
At first glance, it was chaos. But magic, like math, obeys logic.
ϕ and λ — celestial paraters: soul-strength and astral resonance
∇λ — the gradient of astral density (how celestial flows spatially)
E — elental force magnitude
α² — squared amplification
𝓌¹ — initial wind vector
∂Θ/∂t — change of intent over ti
δΩ(mₛ²) — mass influence
limₙ→∞ Ψᶜ(ξ) — the cursed threshold effect
This curve suggested Celestara embedded tid intent, the caster’s ntal focus (∂Θ/∂t), into the raw elental vector (𝓌¹), then squared that with celestial resonance (α²), and reduced it by mass entropy (δΩ). Effectively:
Celestial resonance transforms elental energy through squared intent, overcoming mass inertia—if the cursed threshold limit holds.
I extracted variables and rewrote them in logarithmic form:
log(E × (ϕ ∇λ)) = 2·log(α) log(𝓌¹ ∂Θ/∂t) − log[δΩ(mₛ²) − capping(Ψᶜ(ξ))]
Then turned that into trigonotric expansion to handle vector direction:
sin(ϕ/λ) × tanh(E) ≈ projected uplift direction.
By combining these transformations, I discovered the point of intersection where celestial resonance amplifies a wind vector effectively twice its magnitude—but only if visualized as intent, then released with precise ntal timing. In short:
Elental magic must be visualized as celestial energy shaped. Intent becos wind.
I closed the book and looked at Elfie, voice softened:
"Elfie," I said quietly, "Celestara overlaps elental and celestial. She visualizes elental as celestial intent. More than pronounced force—it must be believed in her soul."
Her pink eyes widened again. I continued:
"You have high mana—your ability to visualize that overlap may be strong enough to lift both of us. But timing matters. Your intent (∂Θ/∂t) must reach its peak at release, squared by your celestial resonance (α²). Only then the vector transforms into genuine lift."
She stared, mouth open. I paused, the night breeze brushing through the grass.
"If you do it, visualize the wind—see it as light from your soul flowing outward. Hold the book centered, focus your intention on lifting . Don’t just say the words... feel them."
I leaned back, eyes drifting to the dawn sky—but turned them back to her soon after.
"You can do it, Elfie."
I didn’t say because I believe in you—I implied it. She nodded with trembling lips.
A mont later, with silent determination, she turned back to the page.
The truth is, even if it was logically possible, no human brain is typically capable of visually manifesting two distinct forms of magic simultaneously, open-eyed—the two domains converge, colliding in ntal complexity. It’s a task ant only for the truly transcendent: Celestara.
But Elfie—she tries again, with all the determination my calculations forecasted would fail.
I glance at her. Her pink eyes lock the page, unwavering, even though exhaustion has painted dark rings beneath them. She’s been chasing this since twilight. She’ll fail. Yet—sohow, she won’t let herself accept it.
But then—
Her tiny lips part, voice trembling yet clear.
"Sylm, vo teyla, arynath sel... Alántha quel’ris elístrin!"
The second spell rings out—celestial syllables impossible to fake but impossible to ignore.
There’s a sickening lurch in my chest as we’re lifted off the ground. A gust of wind, silver-blue and resonant, catches beneath us. One, two... then a storm of power lifts us both.
Er—what?
I stare as she gasps, eyes wide, and unspoken shock ripples between us.
Then—an exhales joined—they scream.
We’re flying.
Above the Clouds—
The field below falls away. Green becos patchwork hills and winding rivers. The orphanage and surrounding villages turn into toys scattered across a vast board.
We soar above the clouds, soft and billowy like spun sugar. The sunrise fractures them into violet and gold shards. Music louder than thunder—yet not frightening.
I glimpse:
Elvion Forests: erald patches beneath us, roads crisscrossing like veins
A distant Demon Realm: dark mountains crowned with ember-scorched peaks
On the horizon: the Celestial Capital floating, tethered to glowing pillars... a bright jewel among distant stars.
Birdlike creatures glide beside us: feathers of starlight, wings made of wind currents. They arc around us, curious. One glides under, letting glimpse its eyes.
Elfie clutches my shirt, muttering between trembling breaths:
"I’m so scared—are you happy?"
Her voice wavers. Her exhaustion runs deep yet hope burns stronger.
I notice the sleep-dark circles under her eyes. Her lips quiver. Her chest heaves with each breath.
That observation—her pain, her sacrifice—makes my expression soften.
Gods... I thought it impossible. But Elfie—little Elfie—made it possible.
A genuine smile creeps across my face, unexpected.
"Yes..." I whisper, voice small.
She turns and sees it. Her pink eyes sparkle, cheeks going warr.
She whispers back, voice full of wonder: "You’re smiling..."
I nod slightly. She smiles wider, brighter, like the sunrise reborn.
Suddenly, gravity pulls.
The wind shifts. We start falling.
Her grip tightens so hard my shirt creases.
She whispers, voice full of panic:
"How do we land... together?!"
A shock runs through .
I look down.
Below us, the world speeds toward us at terrifying detail.
I inhale.
Interesting.
We are going to die.
It’s said that every problem has a solution—provided you eliminate your emotional response to the consequences.
Falling from an altitude of approximately 9,000 ters isn’t what most would consider survivable. Terminal velocity for a child of my weight and fra would exceed 53 m/s—roughly 190 kiloters per hour. At impact, bones would shatter. Organs would liquefy.
A poetic way to return to the ground—if one were interested in returning at all.
I was not.
My brain starts parsing options.
Option One: Basic physics.
Air resistance won’t slow us fast enough. Surface area too small. Dead end.
Option Two: Natural drag and spiral montum.
Could lessen speed, but not stop impact. Risk level: 98%. Still fatal.
Option Three: Elental buffer.
Water manipulation to create friction. Ice to form angled slides mid-air. Recalculating mass to surface force ratios... Viable, but—
Problem.
I have no mana.
I glance at Elfie. Her eyes are wide, brimming with hope and terror. She grabs my hand. Her fingers are trembling... interlocking with mine.
What is she doing?
She murmurs a spell.
"Seyla ventura... ashenai mor’ilen..."
"Let the stars bless his soul."
Suddenly—shock.
Sothing ruptures inside . An electric throb runs through my spine. Like ice entering my bloodstream, flowing against every natural law I’ve accepted.
Then—My vision flickers.
A pulse floods through .
Mana.
For the first ti in my life, I feel it.
It’s not cold or warm. It’s holding my soul. A language I never spoke suddenly making sense.
She gave it to . She shared her mana.
Without permission.
That idiot girl...
But I can’t think about that now.
First, I redirect it—fast.
I compress the ambient moisture around us, condensing it into an expanding field of dense water particles. A floating layer forms beneath us.
Using wind resistance theory and liquid surface tension, I summon flattened arcs of water—angled, overlapping ramps.
Mid-air, I freeze their edges using ice manipulation, forming curved, smooth descents—like cascading glacier steps.
Next, I shift mass using water propulsion. I release controlled jets of pressure downward to counteract gravity by 9.8 m/s².
We drop into the first ramp. Slide. Compress again. Second ramp. Repeat. Six tis in total. The final ice patch forms beneath our feet, tilted perfectly for a slow finish.
The friction carries us. Velocity now reduced to a safe descent rate.
And then—We land.
I exhale. My legs fold under , but I remain conscious.
Elfie, still unconscious, lies quietly in my arms.
I lower her onto the grass gently, brushing away strands of wind-tangled pink hair from her eyes.
Her pulse is steady.
I glance at my hand—mana residue still there.
No child should be able to transfer mana.
Because it’s impossible.
And she... just did it instinctively.
I stare at her sleeping face.
"You did that," I mutter.
"You gave your mana... for to live."
For the first ti in years, I don’t know what to say.
The grass was cold against the soles of my feet as I took a few steps forward. Dew clung to my skin like mory—soft, stubborn, and uninvited.
I stared down at my palms.
They were still trembling.
Not from fatigue... but sensation. Mana still lingered faintly in my veins, like the final embers of a dying fire. My body rembered sothing I never knew.
My brain, however, remained suspicious.
For as long as I’ve been aware of myself, I only smiled to deceive. To be trusted.
To manipulate.
Trust is a currency—often overvalued, easily exploited. Smile at the right mont and the world hands you a knife and turns its back.
So why...
Why did I smile for her?
When I saw her smile, tired and sleep-deprived, her whole face lit up with joy. Her eyes were red from crying, her lips cracked from whispering spells all night. Yet she looked at like I was the only good thing left in this world.
And I... smiled.
I didn’t need to. I wasn’t being watched. There was no gain. And yet—
I did it.
That’s the part I can’t explain. Not logically.
And that... bothers .
I glanced back toward her, asleep on the grass—arms curled up close, like a small bird finally resting after a storm.
She’s... different.
Not a fake human being like .
The world of Celestine has always punished that kind of person. Those who feel deeply. Those who dream loudly.
Those who trust.
The pri one being Celestara’s past, geniuses—those who carved their nas into the history of this land and twisted its moral compass.
The gods were governed by power.
The Queen of Curses was driven by vengeance.
And so the people learned from them.
They built a society where morality is just a variable.
Where trust is conditional.
Where kindness is strategic.
Where vulnerability is a weapon to be exploited.
That’s why I don’t trust people. Because I understand how they think. I understand that morality isn’t real—just a chanism we created to maintain order.
The idea that "goodness" is rely disguised for using others is real. That altruism is simply the long-term investnt of self-interest.
I never disagreed.
Until her.
I lowered my gaze.
Elfie.
She’s not logical. She’s desperately emotional for . She holds onto like the world might take away in the wind. She would give everything—if I asked once.
She isn’t fake.
She’s lovely.
And maybe for once... I want that in my life.
I always thought of her as a tool. A doll. An emotional test case to learn how to behave like a child. How to "fit in." But that narrative no longer fits. It broke sowhere between her tears... and my smile.
She might be my first.
And only...
Friend.
No—best friend.
If she’s willing to sacrifice her health, her mana, her sanity to make smile... then I should return the favor.
She took a dream that wasn’t ant to co true and turned it into reality.
She looked at my impossibility... and made it hers.
From now on—
I’ll protect her.
I’ll kill anyone that dares to hurt her smile.
The world is hers to take, as long as I walk beside her.
And if she keeps sharing her mana with ...
Then there’s nothing—absolutely nothing—that can stand against my foresight.
A child with mana is common.
A child with mana and intellect? Dangerous.
A child with her magic... and my mind?
That’s the end of the world.
I gently lowered myself and picked her up in my arms.
She murmured sothing in her sleep, clutching onto my shirt.
"You’ve been calling yours for a while, Elfie..." I whispered, beginning to walk back toward the orphanage beneath the early morning light.
The sky bled orange, soft and warm—like a scene from a storybook.
"...I quite like it now."
I looked down at her sleeping face. At peace.
"From now on...
You’ll be mine."
"Just mine."
----------------------- 4 Years Later
6/24/2012 - Kaiser’s perspective
The heat clung to my skin like a second layer, thick and unsympathetic.
Sumr in Celestine was always an exercise in discomfort—damp clothes, dizzying sun, the occasional kid crying because the dirt was "too hot" for their feet.
I walked through the now-renovated orphanage halls, mildly impressed. Proper ceiling fans. Structured insulation. Woven blankets folded uniformly in each room. A centralized water-cooling enchantnt at the dining corner.
Functional, finally.
They say suffering breeds change. I guess soone in the Celestial Kingdom finally opened their ledgers and found their conscience.
Through the open corridor I caught a glimpse of the outside fields—kids laughing, chasing each other through waves of heat and golden dust. Their joy felt... distant. Familiar in theory, alien in practice.
I could mimic it, but I couldn’t quite live it.
"Kaiser?"
A familiar voice. Miss Clara.
I turned and found her walking toward , her arms tucked behind her back, her usual pleasant tone lightly laced with a task she didn’t want to do alone.
"Can you help carry so of the supply boxes?" she asked.
I nodded. "Of course."
Her smile was soft, maternal. We didn’t share blood, but she always looked at like a complicated puzzle she couldn’t help but love. I followed her to the back, where a large wooden wagon stood parked under the shadow of a magically-reinforced tarp.
Stacks of crates. Most sealed with the royal sigil of the Celestial Kingdom. Probably donated supplies—food, bandages, mana quills, maybe a few books for education.
Clara bent down and picked one of the larger boxes. I went for one of the dium-sized ones—not because I had to, but because I’d already analyzed the weight distribution based on the creak of the wood and assud contents.
These were roughly 30 kilograms.
She glanced sideways. "Kaiser... what sort of gas do you play with the other kids these days?"
"Mostly tag. Hide and seek if they’re in the mood to be sneaky."
Clara gave a squint-eyed look of amusent. "Strange... I assud you were playing so strong physical sports."
"Because you’re able to carry those boxes."
"You should be carrying the small ones, which are around ten kilos."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Well..." She adjusted the heavy box she was holding, a faint aura shimring around her arms—physical enhancent magic. "These dium crates weigh nearly 30, maybe more, and I’m using magic to lift a heavier one—about 40 kg. But you’re carrying yours like it’s nothing. And without any enhancents."
I blinked. Mild miscalculation on my part. I should’ve acted a little more strained to avoid suspicion.
"...Oh."
I smiled. "I guess I just wanted to help you out for everything you’ve done for us, Miss Clara."
Her expression softened. "You’re truly unique, Kaiser."
Unique.
Right. That’s one way to label inhumanity dressed in manners.
The truth is I’ve trained my body to optimize force output without triggering muscle change. Focusing on the brachioradialis, flexor carpi ulnaris, and flexor digitorum profundus muscles.
They strengthen grip and load-bearing without adding visible mass—perfect for operating under the radar. Unassuming strength.
Muscles get noticed. Strength doesn’t, not unless you display it.
A lesson most war veterans learned the hard way during the Era of the God-Falls. Even the ancient swordsman Zarhelm Vernius recorded in his moirs: "Muscles invite eyes. Precision invites fear."
Besides, Clara didn’t need to know I had figured out how to deadlift my own weight by the age of eleven. Or that I morized the entire muscular system of the human body when I was nine.
She didn’t need that.
She needed a child who could smile while carrying boxes.
So I smiled.
We worked in silence for a while—moving boxes, wiping sweat, exchanging occasional words. My mind wandered.
To her words. "You’re unique."
People usually say that when they see sothing that should scare them... but doesn’t. When the human exterior doesn’t match the reality underneath. When the child smiles, but the child also dissects.
Am I unique? Maybe. But only in the way broken clocks are.
Functional for one second, then off again.
Or maybe... that’s just the excuse I’ve used to keep people at arm’s length. Easier to play the cold genius than admit you’re scared of vulnerability.
I looked back at Clara, who humd softly while arranging things.
And I thought...
Maybe so kindness isn’t dangerous.
I adjusted my grip on the next crate, walking beside her with even steps.
We stacked the final box near the supply shelf as Clara wiped her forehead, exhaling softly.
"Thank you, Kaiser," she said with genuine appreciation in her voice. "You really made this easier."
"It’s my pleasure," I replied, brushing a thin trail of sweat from my temple. "You’ve done a lot for us. Least I can do is lend a hand."
She gave a warm smile. "Still, you’re maturing fast. Taller, stronger, more polite than the others. You’re going to make a wonderful—"
"Why are you here, Kai?"
The air dropped several degrees.
I didn’t even need to look. That voice was unmistakable—like soft silk wrapped around cold steel. Sweet tone, weaponized words. Elfie.
I turned.
She was walking toward us across the sunlit corridor, strands of her long pink hair flowing in the afternoon wind like threads from so tragic fairytale.
However her expression was far from sweet. Her eyes—now light blue like mine—were narrowed.
Possessive. Cold.
That was Elfie now.
Clara blinked, startled. "Ah—Elfie, we were just—"
"Why are you making him do your work?" she cut in sharply.
Her words were soft, but there was sothing venomous behind them.
Clara opened her mouth again to explain, but Elfie tilted her head slightly—then said sothing quiet enough that I doubt anyone else would’ve caught it.
"If you ask him again... you won’t be carrying boxes anymore."
I heard it. So did Clara.
The silence afterward was loud.
Elfie stepped forward, grabbed my wrist, and laced her fingers tightly around mine. "You’re coming with . Only ."
Her grip was firm. Possessive.
And as she turned, she threw one last glance toward Clara. "Next ti, find soone else. He’s not yours to ask help from."
Clara stood frozen, blinking, lips parting as if to protest—but no sound ca out.
I just followed.
What else could I do? That was Elfie for you.
She’s always had that intensity—an emotional logic that borders on dangerous. She doesn’t think in halves. Only absolutes. If soone tries to co between us, even for a mont, she reacts like they’ve tried to rip her heart out.
And if I’m being honest... she’s grown quite a bit. Her hair now cascades past her shoulders, and her face—still cherubic in ways—has taken on a strange elegance.
She’s... pretty. That word fits, though it’s not sothing I often allow myself to use.
Her eyes though—those damn eyes. Still strange to see my own staring back at .
A few years ago, she created a spell just to change her eye color to match mine. The process itself was a magical paradox. Altering retinal pignt through illusion wasn’t impossible, but the way she fused permanent shape-manipulation into illusionary layering?
That wasn’t a child’s work. That was sothing not even adult magicians could replicate.
Sotis I wonder if logic even applies to her.
Elfie’s not just the strongest kid in this orphanage—she’s an anomaly. Born with magic potential that eclipses most trained adults. She doesn’t learn magic... she builds it. Molds it. Wields it as if the laws of sorcery were suggestions she could rewrite.
But with that gift ca a cost.
She’s colder now around others. Not openly cruel, but there’s a distance. A barrier. If soone gets too close to , she pushes them away—verbally, emotionally, even magically if she needs to. I’ve seen it happen.
A subtle freezing gust near a girl who asked to play. A sudden crackle of static when a boy praised .
No one questions her. They wouldn’t dare.
She’s untouchable.
And at the center of all her attention... is .
Why ? I’ve stopped asking. I was there for her once when she had no one. Now she acts like I’m her entire world. A dangerous fixation... and yet, strangely comforting.
After a bit of silent walking, she finally stopped. We were alone now—back corner of the orphanage grounds, where no one ever ca. A place we used to hide out in when we were younger.
She turned on her heel with a dramatic huff, cheeks puffed, brows furrowed.
That pout again.
Here we go again.
Arms folded, cheeks puffed, brows trembling like she’d just been sentenced to exile in a kingdom without .
Honestly, if I wasn’t so used to it, I’d be alard. But this was Elfie. The girl who once threatened a bird for getting too close to my shoulder. Her definition of "normal" existed sowhere between obsessive and absurd.
She looked up at .
"You weren’t supposed to be with Miss Clara," she said.
"You make it sound like I committed treason," I replied.
"You did." Her tone was flat, dead serious. "You promised you’d wait after lunch and then you disappeared, and when I asked the other kids, they said you were with her."
"I didn’t promise," I said, sighing. "You told to wait. I nodded. There’s a difference."
"You nodded. That’s a verbal contract."
"Technically it’s non-verbal."
"I don’t care, Kai!" she stomped once. "You’re mine. My best friend. Why is she calling you for help? Why is she looking at you like she’s proud of you? Why is she even allowed to talk to you like that?!"
"She asked to carry boxes."
"She should’ve asked soone else. Like lo. He’s strong. He picked up two kids last week!"
"He also dropped them on his foot," I pointed out. "You heard him scream, it echoed across three counties."
"She still shouldn’t have asked you," she muttered. "People try to take things when they’re not theirs."
"Things?" I raised a brow.
She blinked. "I ant people."
"That’s better."
"Wait, no, not better—I an—worse—no—wait—" she was spiraling.
It was genuinely impressive how fast her brain collapsed under emotional turbulence. If I’d plotted her thoughts on a graph, it’d resemble the wingspan of a drunk bat.
"I’m serious," she finally said, blue eyes locked onto mine. "They try to take you. All of them. Clara, that one girl who gave you a gift last week, Liam—he touched your back when you fell!"
"He was helping up," I deadpanned.
"I could’ve helped you up. With my wind magic. Or with my hands!"
"You weren’t there."
"I would ca if you asked !"
I rubbed my temples. "Elfie—"
"You’re my best friend, Kai. That ans you’re mine. And I’m yours. And that’s how it is."
"You’re sounding like a very adorable dictator."
"Good."
I sighed again. "You want to kneel, or salute?"
"I want you to swear allegiance," she said with zero irony. "No more spending ti with other girls. No more smiling at anyone but . If they ask for your help, you tell them you have fragile bones and only Elfie can heal you."
"That’s quite the restriction."
"Oh, and if Clara asks again, I will ensure she can’t talk again. Not fatally. Just sothing minor."
"That’s not even physically—"
"I’ll make it work."
Her eyes were deadly serious.
Despite the sheer absurdity of the conversation, there was sothing oddly warming about it. Not the content—if anything, this entire interaction should’ve raised a hundred psychological red flags—but her intensity. Her absolute, unwavering focus on .
Four years ago, I might’ve brushed this off with indifference. I might’ve called her obsession a flaw. But now... I understood.
People cling to what makes them feel safe.
And I was her world. Just like she’d beco mine.
I let the mont breathe, then smiled faintly and stepped closer.
"Alright, alright," I said. "I surrender. Today, I’m all yours. Tell what to do princess."
Her expression froze. Then brightened—slowly, steadily, like watching the sun rise over frozen glass.
"Anything I say?" she asked, blinking.
"Anything."
"You’ll obey without question?"
"Within reason."
"No talking to other girls?"
"...Negotiable."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Fine," I relented. "No talking to other girls. Just don’t hex Clara."
"I’ll consider it."
"Good enough."
She grinned, slipping her hand into mine—fingers interlocking tightly, like she was afraid I’d disappear.
"Then let’s go," she said brightly. "We’re going to the field. You’re going to lay down, and I’m going to summon clouds to block the sun so you don’t tan."
"That’s... disturbingly sweet."
"I’m also going to feed you cherries one by one and brush your hair."
"I don’t have long enough hair."
"I’ll make it grow."
"Of course you will."
She giggled and tugged my hand. We started walking.
The field was quieter than usual—empty except for the rustling grass and the occasional song of cicadas lost in sumr’s rhythm.
Elfie dragged out here with a gleam in her eyes, like she had sothing up her sleeve.
She always does.
I let her pull along until we reached the middle of the field, where the sky poured sunlight like molten glass. I blinked once—twice—and then, like magic—
...literally magic.
A single fluffy cloud ford above us, then another, rging into a dense mass of white vapor that shaded the world beneath it. The sun vanished, replaced with a soft, glowing light. Then I felt it—coolness. A gust of wind that rolled across the grass like a wave.
Snowflakes started drifting from the air. Actual snow. In sumr.
"Huh," I muttered, watching one lt on my palm. "You really went for it."
"Told you I’d make it perfect," Elfie said proudly, pushing down with a grin. "Lay down already. I made this for you."
I lay on the grass, surprisingly cold and soft, like a fresh frost had settled without the bite. Above, the cloud hung low like a gentle ceiling. She sat beside , then—without asking—rested her head on my shoulder.
"Our little mont," she whispered.
I blinked, once again. This girl...
I tilted my head slightly toward her. "So what did you do this ti?"
She looked up, a smile curling on her lips as if she’d been waiting for to ask.
"I mixed them," she said simply. "I laced elental water magic with celestial amplification. Normally, elental water draws from moisture in the atmosphere, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that only gives you ambient water control. So I used celestial mana as an enhancer. It binds with the elental particles and forces a denser crystallization. Which let create clouds, then condense them through rapid atmospheric pressure shifts using wind magic."
I blinked.
"So in layman’s terms," she continued like a professor at a symposium, "I supercharged the water particles, froze the temperature around us manually, and then set wind paths using micro-aerokinetic pulses. Pretty standard."
"That’s not standard," I said flatly. "You just wrote an advanced spell matrix in your head and controlled five environntal variables manually."
She smiled and wrapped her arms around , slipping them around my torso like a living scarf.
"Yeah," she said sweetly. "But I did it for you."
I raised a brow. "And why are you holding like I’m going to get stolen?"
"I’m cold," she said innocently, squeezing tighter. "I need warmth."
"Really?"
"Also you’re my best friend and I have the right."
"Ah, there it is."
"I won’t let go."
"I figured."
She laid her head back on my shoulder and sighed like she’d just climbed a mountain. And to be fair, she probably had—ntally. That kind of spell layering would burn out most adult mages.
I watched the clouds float above us, each breath pulling in chilled air, her snowy wonderland surprisingly peaceful.
Elfie wasn’t just talented. She was a prodigy—no, more than that. She was a singularity. I’d seen children master elents. I’d seen teens calculate spell velocity. But no one—no one—could weave different magic systems into sothing new by instinct.
She was dangerous.
I glanced at her sleepy face, curled beside with fingers curled in my shirt like a child clinging to a favorite toy.
"You’re amazing, Elfie."
She smiled without opening her eyes. "Say that again."
"I’m not repeating myself."
"You’re an."
"I’m honest."
"Hmph."
She nuzzled closer, whispering, "I’m not letting go."
"I know," I said softly.
And honestly...
I didn’t want her to.
The world was peaceful for exactly twelve minutes.
Then ca the sound of footsteps—rustling grass, laughter trying to be quiet but failing. I turned my head without moving much. A group of boys. About five of them, all sweaty, loud, and brimming with the kind of misguided confidence that cos from being praised once too many tis by overworked caretakers.
One of them stepped forward. "Elfie," he called, voice sharp like he was trying to command her. "Co on. He wants to play another match with you."
Elfie’s expression shifted.
Gone was the warmth, the sleepy girl in a winter dreamscape. In her place: cold composure. Her voice was almost robotic. "No."
"But he specifically asked for you," another one added. "He says the last match didn’t count."
The na wasn’t said.
It didn’t need to be.
I knew who he was.
Veyren Calliste.
Eleven years old. Jet-black hair that looked combed by calculation, not vanity. Eyes darker than voidstone—sharper than most adults.
He was gifted. Disgustingly so.
He was found three months ago and brought to the orphanage after his forr magical institution was destroyed. Word is, he was already halfway through decoding Celestaran matrices when most kids still struggled with fireball shape control.
In short, he was Elfie’s only rival.
At first, she wiped the floor with him in magical duel gas—things like:
Mirror Rift Battles: where spells had to be cast into mirrors, then reflected and redirected back without breaking the mirror-space.
Gravity Shifts: inverting magical weights while casting spells upside down.
Mana Tag: one player had to constantly switch elental auras while avoiding detection from the other.
He lost those. Repeatedly.
But Veyren adapted. Fast.
He began designing gas that weren’t magic-based—but logic-based. And in that realm, Elfie’s creativity was countered by his structured brilliance. They’ve been tied in their last three gas.
Elfie groaned. "Ugh... fine," she muttered, clearly annoyed.
She sat up and imdiately reached for my hand, fingers intertwining with mine like it was an automatic response. "You’re coming with ."
"Was that a question?" I asked.
"No."
Right.
By the ti we reached the courtyard, he was already there—sitting beneath the large marble archway where the fountain used to be. A board was set up in front of him.
He looked up and grinned the way tacticians do right before sieges.
"Glad you showed up," Veyren said, standing. "Took you long enough, Elphina."
"It’s Elfina, idiot," she spat, stepping forward.
He raised a brow. "Still sensitive, I see."
"And you’re still ugly."
I stifled a chuckle.
"You always bring him?" Veyren’s eyes slid to . "Like a good luck charm?"
I smiled flatly. "I’m here to make sure you don’t cry this ti."
His grin didn’t falter. "That’s funny. I would never cry."
"Right, with tears in your mouth."
Elfie snorted.
Veyren stepped forward and gestured to the table. "Today’s match will be sothing a little... smarter."
"What is it?" Elfie asked.
"Astral Chess."
The boys around him murmured like he’d just summoned a demon. Elfie blinked. Even she hadn’t played it.
Veyren continued with a smug air. "Astral Chess isn’t about power. It’s a three-dinsional construct—board pieces imbued with spells that activate when aligned with astral runes. Each move isn’t just strategy; it’s causality. Make the wrong pattern, and your own pieces might turn on you."
So essentially...
A magical version of chess.
But the board shifts every three turns, and the magical runes underneath it realign based on star positions simulated in real-ti using celestial projection magic.
It’s not just chess—it’s chess laced with unpredictable magical interference and long-form prediction. Think strategy ets chaos theory.
Which ans—
Elfie’s raw creativity? Not enough.
Not this ti.
This ga was a stage for thodical planners, not instinctual casters.
I analyzed the setup as Veyren activated the board with a glowing sigil. A constellation flickered above, and the pieces humd with light. They weren’t just physical tokens—they were magical constructs that moved after being given intent.
Veyren smirked. "Ready to lose in front of your bestfriend?"
Elfie cracked her knuckles. "Ready to cry in front of yours?"
They sat down.
I crossed my arms.
This was going to be interesting.
Their voices rang across the courtyard like clashing steel.
Veyren’s gaze was steady, his black eyes ticking over every move like a calculating algorithm. Elfie’s face twisted with determination and frustration, layers of emotion flickering under her flawless facade.
They were playing Astral Chess—a board reinforced with magic, changing shape every few moves, reconfiguring runic patterns that triggered cascades of energy if pieces aligned improperly.
I watched silently, standing off to the side as the afternoon sun burned low.
The Ga Unfolds
Move 1–2: Elfie started strong. She deployed light rune-pawns at unexpected angles, attempting to trigger early astral shifts toward her favor. Candles under her eyebrows flared: she believed in surprises.
Move 3–5: Veyren adjusted the board with a flick—one rune shifted, pieces slid. He predicted overflow currents and steered the constellations. His responses were precise.
Moves 6–8: Elfie’s mind raced—she drafted creative branches, clever directional shifts with wind accents. But every strategy collapsed under another layer of prediction.
Move 9–12: Veyren executed a chain astral turn—two cascaded spells triggered exactly at turn twelve—her rook burst, her bishop pivoted unexpectedly, rendering her position untenable.
Elfie’s eyes grew wide. Her jaw trembled as she realized what was happening.
The Crushing End
Veyren leaned back, expression crisp and cold:
"If it’s not magic, stop being stupid and win."
His voice didn’t falter.
Elfie froze.
Then she snapped back, voice trembling:
"Everyone here thinks this is unfair! It’s not magic-related!"
Veyren stared, unmoved.
"You talk a lot, Elfie—especially for soone born with extra mana. You’re nothing without it."
He leaned forward, every syllable surgical.
"Try being smarter."
There it was.
She slamd down her final piece—and lost.
Her tears ca in an instant.
She looked at the board one final ti.
Then her fingers trembled. Her lip quivered.
I stepped forward instinctively and pulled her into my arms.
Her tears soaked into my shirt as she buried her face against .
"It’s okay, Elfie," I murmured quietly.
Sowhere in that mont—watching her cry—I felt a strange pull, an intent I hadn’t known I carried.
Veyren laughed with his cronies. Her loss beca fodder in their voices—a story they’d retell with smug emphasis.
I glared.
"Elfie... go wash your face," I said softly, holding her still.
She shook her head, clutching my shirt, refusing to loosen her grip.
"Not alone," she whispered.
I hesitated for a mont—then gently disentangled myself and looked into her eyes. "You can go alone. I’ll be right over there."
She sniffled, wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"O-okie."
Slowly, she stood and walked away—head bowed, hair brushing the grass.
I stayed, watching her retreat until she disappeared into the orphanage corridor.
Behind , Veyren and his friends were still laughing. I clenched my jaw and turned, ready to speak—or at least pause the echoes of their mocking laughter.
They made her cry.
And for reasons I don’t fully understand, the sight of Elfie’s tears fills with sothing unfamiliar. An ice-cold fury that twists in my chest. It’s not concern. Not pity. Sothing darker. Sothing that tastes like revenge.
It’s not rational. It shouldn’t feel like this at all.
But I want to destroy those boys.
I turned on my heel and walked straight toward Veyren’s circle, voice steady.
"Veyren."
He looks up from the fractured board with a smirk. His cronies, flush with arrogance after the match, echo with laughter.
I lean forward, voice ice.
"I’d like to play a match with you."
Veyren scoffs, crossed arms under the afternoon light.
"You think you can win? Please. Even my grades outsmart you and Elfie. You don’t even belong at the table."
I smile faintly—polite, predatory.
"Grades... that’s cute. It’s like a cage bird thinking they surpass their owner from the pet food they were given. You may outperform in rote academics, but here... you lose."
His face tightens.
"Who are you calling a caged bird?" one of his friends hisses.
I tilt my head**
"Oh the group of caged pets?" I offer evenly. "I wonder at what age you all were diagnosed with autism."
They shift.
I raise an eyebrow.
"I know you rely on that aura of genius—ever listen to yourself spout? We both know you’re nothing without your gifts. Cage boy."
"Oh my, is Elfina’s lacky trying to lecture ?" Veyren bristles.
I keep going.
"You see... I’m not insulting you, I’m describing you. Similar to your weird friends, actually one of them even sniffed Elfie’s scarf once. Moved by the scent of her mana."
Boisterous laughter roars, but without Elfie’s presence, there’s tension.
"You want this match?" Veyren finally says, voice strained. "Fine. But you’ll lose horribly... I won’t hold back at all as I crush you. You’re just a shadow over soone’s achievents, afterall."
I didn’t respond imdiately.
"Interesting choice of words. No need to repeat your delusional confidence, I ignored you well the first ti."
He clenches a fist against the table.
"Tell your pets—you’ll accept the challenge."
Finally he gives a nod agreeing to it.
His friends exchange uneasy looks.
I stand, shoulders uncrossed.
I nod once.
"Under bright celestine light... the shadow will cast a shape you’ll regret."
They knew I was serious.
---------------------------------------
Astral Chess.
A ga of intellect, prediction, and magical interference. Played on a floating, rune-etched board composed of transparent layers suspended in magical equilibrium. Each layer corresponds to a different plane: physical, arcane, astral. Every piece is imbued with minor enchantnts—so passive, so reactive, so catastrophic.
It’s not a test of power.
It’s a test of mind. Pattern recognition. Prediction. Cognitive resilience under chaos.
I wasn’t born with mana. But I was born with sothing better—clarity.
Veyren sits across from , smug as ever. His black eyes glint under the hovering board as he cracks his knuckles like it matters.
"Hope you’re ready to be embarrassed just like your little girlfriend."
I say nothing.
The first three turns pass without incident.
Pawn. Bishop. Knight. Standard openings.
He’s using Celestial Sync on his third move—subtly activating runes under my side of the board to destabilize two astral paths I could’ve used for defense. Clever.
I rotate my rook on the second layer. He laughs.
"That’s your counter? You just disabled your own rook. What are you even trying?"
Of course he doesn’t see it. He’s only looking at one board.
But Astral Chess isn’t one board.
It’s four.
Every three turns, the astral constellation projected above the board shifts.
Each piece’s behavior recalculates based on those positions. Star patterns are generated using an artificial celestial simulator—think of it like a real-ti predictive constellation engine.
Thus, they are not random. Just complicated.
He’s playing reactively. Casting elental prediction spells to anticipate my next attack.
But his mana and mind can only simulate seven possibilities at a ti.
I’m simulating twenty-five.
Because I don’t need spells. I use math.
Let’s begin.
Exponential probability density along the third-axis indicates the Queen’s mobility increases by 40% every fourth shift.
Trigonotric function: If θ is the angular rotation of the celestial sphere and Δ is the rate of rune alignnt, then:
tan(θ) * sin(Δ) * current ti unit (T) = future destabilization point of his king’s diagonal defense.
From there, apply basic inverse matrices to predict where the third-layer bishop will warp on the fifth phase.
Simple.
To , anyway.
Turn nine.
He casts an offensive sequence. My knight gets reversed.
"Check. You’re flailing, Kaiser. Maybe you should stick to hiding behind Elfie next ti."
Still too early.
Turn eleven. I place my queen in what looks like a self-sabotaging position. He blinks. Laughs.
"Do you even know how to play? Are you—"
He stops.
The board pulses.
His rook activates a trap rune... on his side.
"Wait... that shouldn’t have..."
His bishop destabilizes from the third layer.
I rest my chin on my palm.
"You realigned the wrong astral layer. The fourth one was tethered to my queen’s rune, not the third. That’s why your story ends here."
He stares.
Veyren’s in denial.
He still believes I made random moves.
He doesn’t know that five turns ago, I placed my knight on the second board not to attack—but to create a false displacent pattern, which forced him to counter with a spell that rotated the celestial projection just enough for to redirect the board’s pulse alignnt.
All of this was preditated.
He just didn’t see it.
Turn fifteen.
He starts muttering spell phrases too quickly, slipping syllables.
Panic.
"You—you’re bluffing. This isn’t possible. You’re cheating sohow."
"You’re just predictable."
He triggers a full reroute of astral flow—dumping his mana pool to reverse polarity.
His king shifts.
Now the stars themselves begin reshaping the board.
"You can’t win now! You backed yourself into a corner! Checkmate in three!"
I exhale.
Stand.
Move one piece.
Silence.
One. Move.
And the entire board collapses on him.
Every single piece linked to his king destabilizes. Traps, reversals, backlashes. Runes turning on themselves. His queen implodes from magical overload. The king flickers off the board.
I sit back down.
Ga over.
He stares at the board, unmoving. Sweat trickles down his temple.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression.
And now...
Acceptance.
"How... how did you...?"
"I saw it all."
He doesn’t answer.
"Twenty-five possible outcos, all played out before we made our first move. I chose the one where you lose. And I forced you into it."
I stand again.
Lean forward.
My voice low.
"You asumd mana makes you better. Letting the self-delusion that magic is everything. But without it, I still destroyed you.."
He winces.
"Veyren."
He looks up.
"You’re just a caged bird born smart."
I glance toward the building. Elfie’s not back yet.
My eyes narrow.
"If you ever make her cry again... I’ll ensure a nobody like you doesn’t breathe again."
He freezes. I leave him there—swallowed by silence, surrounded by the wreckage of his own ego.
I don’t like trying...
But so people only understand when their world is destroyed in front of them.
And sotis, destruction is the only form of communication they respect.
He should feel lucky I used chess.
Next ti, I won’t.
I left and started heading towards where Elfie would be.
The field was still noisy.
Kids yelling over ball gas, so running in crooked, chaotic lines—laughing like the air itself had tickled them into joy. The sun was low, painting orange threads across the sky as if even the horizon wanted to go ho early today.
But Elfie wasn’t among them.
I already knew where she’d be.
The big tree near the edge of the hill, the one that curves sideways. The sa one I used to sit under with a book open and her head resting in my lap, asking to read her sothing—anything—until she fell asleep.
She always ran there when she was upset. As if it were so haven only we knew.
Maybe it is.
I started walking toward it, my pace slow. The wind caught so grass and swept it sideways as I stepped through.
I wasn’t rushing. I was thinking.
Veyren wasn’t weak.
He wasn’t strong either.
He was... dangerous. Not in the traditional sense. Not a bully, not a brute. But because he was clever. Clever enough to pose a threat.
That’s why I didn’t underestimate him.
But I didn’t overestimate him either.
I saw him for what he was—an ego stitched too tight to its own pride. The type of intelligence that demands applause. The kind that confuses confidence with certainty.
He wasn’t just playing Astral Chess.
He was trying to outshine . Being the natural born genius, he had the experience of outshining everyone.
And that was his first mistake.
The way I won wasn’t flashy. No complicated show of force. No spell or rune trickery.
It was subtle.
Starting with the probability pathing. I calculated the odds of each celestial realignnt during the fourth board phase using variance analysis—he only accounted for likely patterns, the top three possibilities. I accounted for all eight.
Then ca the behavioral analysis. He liked symtry—the ga he played with elfie, his opening strategy mirrored his her’s within the first five turns.
So I gave him what he wanted: a mirror.
I let him believe I was mimicking him, when in fact I was leading him one step behind the entire ga.
Then I baited him.
On turn nine, I planted a misplaced bishop that looked like a failed attempt to open a diagonal rune path. He took it. Aggressively. That told everything I needed.
He was impulsive under pressure.
So I added pressure.
From there it was a series of controlled deceptions. Two fake runic overlaps. One hidden inverse polarity rune under the third board layer. And finally, a silent warping of astral influence based on the lunar alignnt formula:
Δθ = (tan⁻¹(r₂/r₁) - π) / 2
That shifted his king’s line of safety two spaces...
Right into my trap.
He didn’t even notice.
But I did.
I had seven other strategies prepared.
Each calculated. Each with decent outcos. But six of them relied on a degree of probability—on him making a mistake.
On luck.
And I don’t gamble.
Life, like poker, is designed to make you believe that you can win by playing well. But even the perfect hand can be beaten by a fool’s luck.
Astral Chess, however—no.
No luck.
Just math.
That’s why I chose the only strategy with zero variables. No room for deviation. Just a predetermined fall written out like prophecy.
It worked just lik I envisioned.
I played to put him in his place.
I reached the tree.
And there she was.
Elfie. Sitting there, knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in them. The wind moved through her pink hair like it pitied her. Her back rose and fell softly—either crying had stopped or she was trying not to start again.
She didn’t notice yet.
Good.
It gave a mont to just... look.
She really did try today. Tried so hard to win for herself. For her pride. For that strange, obsessive need she has to be worthy of .
She’s not weak.
She just... breaks when people don’t see her the way I do.
And sohow...
That bothers more than it should.
I took one more step forward.
And stopped.
Even though she was never ant anything to in the past.
I care a bit now.
Now... seeing her in her earlier gave the intent to destroy him.
She was just hurt.
And that made ... angry.
But not at her.
No.
At them.
Because they made her cry.
And that’s sothing I’ll never forgive. I’ll destroy anyone that dares to make her cry, without holding back.
She didn’t look up when I sat down beside her.
Didn’t say anything either.
Which was rare, honestly.
Silence wasn’t really in Elfie’s vocabulary. She was more of a "talk until your heart lts or explodes" kind of girl. But right now... she was curled up beside .
"It wasn’t fair..." she muttered.
Ah, there it is.
"Should’ve used sothing with magic involved... Like Rune Darts or Mana Tag or... or sothing with Elents. Not that stupid brain ga..."
She sniffled.
"...He cheated."
"He didn’t cheat," I replied, staring forward at the setting sun.
"He cheated morally," she corrected.
"That’s not a thing."
"Yes it is."
"I think you’re just bad at chess, Elfie."
Her head snapped toward so fast I could hear the wind get disrespected.
"You—! I’ll kill you."
"There’s the spirit," I said, smirking faintly.
She glared at through glassy eyes, then pouted, crossing her arms. Her cheeks puffed out slightly. Adorable.
Classic Elfie.
"I just— I wanted to win, you know?" she mumbled. "I didn’t want to be so dumb girl who only knows how to blow stuff up. I wanted to prove I’m smart, too..."
"You are smart," I said casually, picking a blade of grass and twirling it. "You just lost to soone who was born both smart and gifted."
She was quiet again.
Then:
"...Did you win?"
I blinked. "What?"
"When you played him... after I left. Did you win?"
Interesting she guessed correctly that I played him. Quite surprising she managed to predict that.
"I don’t know," I replied with a shrug. "Maybe I lost. Maybe we all lost. Maybe the real ga was the friends we made along the way."
"Liar."
"I’m not lying. I’m dodging the question. It’s a key difference."
She stared at .
I stared at the sky.
Then I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.
"...Alright fine, he cried a little."
She gasped. "You made him cry?"
"I’ll leave the rest to your imagination."
"Kai!"
"Technically he started it. He insulted you. I just... finished it."
She went quiet again.
This ti, for longer.
And then, to my surprise... she laughed.
It was soft. A tiny giggle at first. Then a hiccup of sound she tried to suppress with her hand. But it broke through anyway. A real laugh. Shaky and full of lingering tears, but honest.
"...You’re such a weirdo," she said, nudging . "A really, really dumb weirdo."
"I’ve been called worse," I said. "Once soone called stupid."
"Were they wrong?"
"...No comnt."
She leaned her head on my shoulder after that, letting out a little sigh. It wasn’t sad anymore. More like... comfort exhaled.
"...Can I hold your hand?" she suddenly asked, quietly.
I tilted my head. "That’s a new one. Never thought you would ask for it. Often or not you just grab it like its yours."
"I just feel... safer. When I hold it," she mumbled. "Like nothing can get . Like even if the world gets really hurtful, I can still hear you near and know I’m okay."
I paused.
Then reached my hand out and let her fingers interlock with mine.
She squeezed imdiately. Like her life depended on it.
"...You’re holding it like I’m going to leave."
"I’m making sure you don’t," she replied.
Fair.
We sat like that for a while. Silent. The wind brushing through our hair. The scent of grass and evening light all around us.
It felt... peaceful.
Then I decided to ruin it.
"So I was thinking..." I said.
"Hmm?"
"Annabella asked to play house with her earlier."
Instant silence.
Elfie’s grip on my hand went from protective to possession-level vice grip.
"She what."
"Yeah. She wanted to be the ’husband’ and she was gonna be the wife. She had a toy frying pan and everything. It was a whole thing."
"...You agreed?"
"I said I’d think about it."
"KAISER."
I couldn’t help but smirk.
"I’m joking. Calm down, thought it would be funny if I agreed."
She growled like a puppy. Then hugged my arm and held it tightly, her eyes narrowed.
"You’re mine."
"I know."
"No, say it."
"You’re mine, Elfie."
"And?"
"And I’m yours. For today."
"Forever."
"...Sure. Forever. Now stop crushing my hand."
She huffed and leaned back against my arm, clearly satisfied. Like a cat guarding its favorite sun spot.
-------------------
Elfie’s Perspective:
It was already past 11 pm...
Why am I still here in the library?
Ughhhh, stupid book... The pages sll weird and the letters blur together when I blink too much. I don’t like reading. It’s boring and quiet and lonely.
I like it better when Kai reads for .
He always makes the boring stuff sound cool.
Even if he doesn’t show it, I know he likes when I listen to him.
But lately, he’s been going to bed earlier...
...He didn’t even say goodnight today.
I closed the book shut with a tiny thump, hugging it against my chest like it was warm or sothing. Maybe if I focus a little—
"Converto... replicatum... astralis... frigus... terrarum..."
The incantation fluttered off my lips like a song I made myself. Light blue and silver threads of magic spun around , and I whispered again to shape it. Earth, water, ice... all joined together, like friends holding hands. Then—
Fwoosh.
A second stood there.
Sa pink hair. Sa bright blue eyes. Sa slightly pouty face.
(Well, maybe that one looked a little less tired.)
"Go check on Kai," I muttered, already feeling a throb in my head. "Make sure he’s not... I don’t know... talking to Annabella again."
Ughhh, the thought alone made my hands tighten.
Splitting my consciousness is hard, okay? But worth it.
This spell is sothing I made a few months ago—Conscious-Split. It lets divide a piece of my mind into a fake version of myself made of elentals and celestial convergence.
It’s hard. It hurts.
But I created it because Kai kept beating in tag.
He said if he won, he’d get to play "house" with Annabella.
I rember staring at him and thinking, WHAT?
He’s MY best friend. MY Kai.
Not hers.
Not anyone’s.
He’s the one who reads books to when I feel sleepy.
He’s the one who pats my head when I do good magic.
He’s the one who told I worthless when everyone else said I was.
So... I made four of that day.
Four.
Just so I could win.
And I did win.
But sohow—sohow—I still couldn’t tag Kai.
Even when it was four versus one, I could barely see him. He’d vanish from one side of the field and appear at the other like so ghost.
That’s when I realized... he wasn’t just fast.
He was predicting every move I’d make.
All of .
I thought I was clever for splitting my brain. But he didn’t even need to. He outmaneuvered every single with nothing but that cold, calm brain of his.
He didn’t even brag about it.
...Good thing I won though. He didn’t get to play with Annabella.
Tch. As if I’d let him.
Still... it got curious. So curious that one day I gave him mana and taught him the spell. My spell. I just wanted to see what he’d do with it.
The next morning he made eight.
EIGHT.
And he didn’t even get a headache.
He said it was "easier to run simulations that way" and that "mory drift was minimal if you tid the de-sync properly." I don’t know what those words an, but it made my brain feel like mush just hearing him say them.
He split himself eight ways... and they all acted different.
Like one was emotionless, one was funny, one was a hiding sothing, and one—
One told I looked cute that day.
I slapped that one.
Then gave him a cookie. I don’t know why.
Shut up.
...I peeked through the eyes of my clone, and there he was.
Kai.
Sleeping in bed, back straight and breath slow. He always sleeps like that. Perfect posture.
His lips were slightly parted. His hair a bit ssy from the pillow.
He looked so peaceful.
So perfect.
He always looks perfect.
My heart... hurts sotis when I look at him too long.
"...Ow."
The headache kicked in. I quickly dismissed the clone with a snap of my fingers, and she turned into light dust that swirled away.
...That’s enough for tonight.
I hugged the book tighter and stared out the library window. The moon was glowing extra pretty tonight. I wondered if Kai had dreams... I hoped he dread of . Maybe I’ll sneak into his room later and draw on his cheek with my mana.
Hehehe...
Only I’m allowed to mark him.
He’s mine.
Only mine.
And tomorrow, I’ll make sure to hold his hand all day long.
He won’t mind.
Because we’re best friends.
Right?
...Right?
As I floated the book up with a little push of wind magic—whiip—it slotted neatly back into the shelf.
"Hmph. Finally," I whispered, rubbing my eyes. "So boring..."
But then—
Thud.
Another book fell. Out of nowhere. It hit the wooden floor with a heavy flap, as if it wanted my attention.
I blinked.
The cover was pitch black. Almost swallowing the light.
Etched in red ink, curling like dried veins:
"The Forsaken Art: Cursed Magic and Its Twisted Principles."
...Tch.
I stared at it for a mont, my fingers curling slightly.
I can’t lie. I hate cursed magic. Not because it’s bad or dangerous or spooky or whatever. I’m not scared.
I hate it because it reminds of her.
The Queen of Curses.
That disgusting, cruel, monster.
Kaiser told about her once. The full tale of Celestara. The goddess of stars and light... and how she almost lived.
She actually survived Arion’s betrayal.
She survived a divine backstab from the one she trusted most.
But not even a week later... she was killed.
By the Queen of Curses.
That devil managed to crawl into the heavens. She smiled as she slaughtered Celestara.
That’s what Kaiser said. She smiled.
I don’t know how soone like that even existed.
I hate her. I hate her so, so much.
And worse?
Arion—the very person Celestara loved—was actually in love with the Queen of Curses. That’s the part that makes wanna scream.
He didn’t betray Celestara for power.
He did it for love.
Love for soone who wanted to corrupt the world.
He threw her away. Killed the one who loved him.
For soone that was never even a god to begin with.
Disgusting.
She took everything from Celestara. Her love. Her light. Her life.
...I rember asking Kai once. Just casually, kind of.
"If another Queen of Curses were to ever be reborn... would I be able to beat her?"
He didn’t answer right away. He was quiet that day.
Then he warned .
He said, "Don’t ever go against her, Elfie. Not even you."
I got mad at him.
I told him I’m stronger. I’m smarter. I’m not so scared little girl—I’m a prodigy! I’m not like the others. I can create new spells in minutes. I can control weather and mimic celestial patterns. I can do anything.
I told him I’d beat her.
But he didn’t agree.
He just looked at ... and said sothing I still rember.
"You’re right, Elfie. Prodigies like you are naturally born stronger. You alone are an abnormality among us.
But the Queen of Curses is different...
Your magic can be used for anything.
Her cursed magic? It was made for killing.
Every inch of her mana is calibrated for slaughter.
That’s why...
You wouldn’t stand a chance."
I didn’t say anything after that.
But I hated it. That feeling.
That soone like her could ever scare . Could ever be stronger than .
It made realize my own potential... So, since then I’m working to sharpen my skills and beco stronger.
And then—
Then he had the audacity to tease .
"If she ever cos back," he said with that annoying, smug smile, "she might try to steal away from you, y’know."
I blinked. "...What?"
"She is charming in a dangerous way," he added, grinning like he was enjoying himself. "Might fall for her if she winks at ."
I instantly grabbed his arm. Hard.
"No," I said. Voice trembling.
"She’s not stealing you."
He tried to tease more. He laughed. Said, "Oh no, what if she takes away and keeps hers?"
I didn’t even laugh. I stared straight into his eyes and whispered:
"I’ll kill her before that."
He blinked.
The smile faded for just a mont.
Then he laughed again. "Relax, Elfie. I was joking."
But I wasn’t.
I didn’t smile.
I didn’t giggle or blush.
I just looked at him. My Kai.
Mine.
And in that mont, I knew—
If anyone ever tries to take him from , I won’t hesitate.
Not even a little.
He’s my best friend.
He’s my everything.
And if the Queen of Curses dares touch what’s mine again...
It won’t end well.
Staring into the open book, my eyes didn’t blink.
The text was... weird. Like, really weird. The way it curved, the way it was written—like it was whispering through the ink instead of reading it.
But I didn’t stop.
Not even when my head hurt.
Because an idea was born.
Kai said the Queen of Curses’ magic was entirely attack-based—nothing but destruction and pure killing intent.
So what if I created my own version of that?
What if I could replicate the violence... without giving up who I am?
Celestial magic is made to heal and support. Elental magic is for control and shaping the world around us. But if I learned how to weaponize both into pure offense... I could create cursed-like magic, without actually being cursed.
I could beco unstoppable.
Because I’m not losing.
Not like Celestara.
My fingers ran over the pages as I flipped faster, until sothing caught my eye. It was a section outlined in crimson ink, bleeding at the corners of the page like dried tears.
Revival Magic.
My lips parted, and I whispered the words to myself like they were a secret ant only for .
It said cursed mages had the ability to revive others. But never themselves. Self-revival was a boundary even they couldn’t cross.
Because the soul becos untethered after death. It floats. Disperses. Loses connection to mana. And nobody had ever found a way to bring themselves back.
But then I rembered—
Kai once told sothing.
"Impossibility is sothing we create for ourselves. We draw the lines around what we’re allowed to do... and then call them rules. But they’re not. They’re cages."
I smiled. A soft, twisted little smile.
Because I don’t live in a cage.
Not anymore.
I’ll never have limits.
Even death won’t stop .
If the Queen of Curses ever returns—
If she ever dares to look at Kai the wrong way—
I’ll be there.
Unkillable.
A spell woven into my very bones that revives every ti I fall.
She can try to rip out my heart.
I’ll co back.
Again and again.
And again.
Until she’s gone.
And I’ll make sure she can’t ever hurt anyone again. Especially him.
Because...
Because I’m not weak anymore.
I rember when I was... broken. When I could barely eat. When I couldn’t sleep because my nightmares were worse than my real life. When the other kids called fragile and pitiful and a lost cause.
But not him.
Kai never pitied .
He never looked at like I was so glass doll ready to crack. He talked to like I was... normal.
He protected .
And now... I protect him.
From the Queen of Curses. From the world. From anyone who thinks they can take what’s mine.
Because I’ve already lost once.
I won’t lose again.
They can try.
But they’ll regret it.
Then I started chanting to create a revival spell.
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