The house wasn't the same anymore. The air had turned stale—not from heat, but from heavy, suffocating anticipation. Shut windows, muffled footsteps that now sounded too loud. Everything stood still, frozen.
Three days had passed.
Three days since Rudeus had barely survived. Zenith hadn't left his bedside—Lilia knew it. So did Paul. He tried to keep it together, but even his usual bravado had dimmed. They were all bound by the same thought: when will he wake up?
Lilia stood by the wall, watching. Paul paced back and forth, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Zenith sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers clutching the blanket. Her hands bore thin marks from her nails, as if she'd been digging them into the fabric over and over. Dark circles clung to her eyes.
"Will he recover?" Lilia asked quietly.
"His fever's gone," Zenith replied without looking up. "Now we just wait."
Her voice was hoarse with exhaustion. Paul exhaled loudly, slumped into a chair, and rested his elbows on his knees.
"How the hell did he even manage that?" His voice came out suddenly sharp. "He's five, for Creator's sake."
Lilia didn't answer right away. She remembered seeing Zenith's books in the boy's hands, catching him near the room late at night. She had seen it—but hadn't felt the need to intervene. Back then, it seemed like harmless childish curiosity.
Now, looking at his bandaged hand, she realized how wrong she'd been.
"I don't know," Zenith finally said.
"Bullshit," Paul muttered. "Kids don't just pull off something like that. This wasn't just magic, this was…"
"This was recklessness," Zenith cut him off. Her fingers clenched tighter. "He never should've gotten near that grimoire."
She suddenly turned to Lilia.
"That was your responsibility, Lilia—watching over him. And now my son is maimed because you let him mess with dangerous magic."
Paul tensed.
"Zenith…"
He let out a breath, but Zenith wasn't done.
"You said he went to the hill. But he came back through the back entrance and no one noticed."
Lilia narrowed her eyes slightly, but her voice stayed calm as always.
"He knows how to go unnoticed."
"Unnoticed?" Zenith scoffed. "He's five!"
"And yet he snuck into the house, took the grimoire, and left without raising suspicion," Lilia replied flatly. "Perhaps all of us should've been paying closer attention."
Paul shook his head and ran a hand down his face.
"What difference does it make now? We can't undo it," Paul muttered.
Zenith bit her lip but didn't argue. All they could do was wait.
"Don't mind her, Lilia," he added after a moment. "She doesn't actually blame you. She's just… trying to put her anger somewhere."
Lilia nodded. She understood. She had never needed anyone to excuse her.
But Zenith was still boiling inside.
"I was supposed to protect him!" Her voice cracked. "This could've killed him… Do you even understand that?"
She clutched the blanket, then grabbed Rudeus's hand—as if to prove to herself that he was still there, still alive.
"I know…" Paul said quietly, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry."
But that wasn't enough. Zenith turned away, jaw clenched. Lilia saw the tremble in her shoulders, but she wouldn't let herself break. Paul looked aside. Comfort wasn't something he was good at. He could shout, he could fight, but this—this was different.
Silence fell.
Only the uneven sound of breathing broke it. Rudeus was still unconscious. Lilia watched as Zenith gently wiped sweat from his face with a damp cloth.
Time passed painfully slowly.
And then—
He moved.
His fingers twitched, his breathing deepened. Lilia noticed it first but said nothing. Seconds later, Zenith felt it too—her eyes lit up with panic and hope.
"Rudy?" Paul's voice was careful, almost soft.
The boy stirred. His face twisted, breath hitched, and he groaned, like in pain. He mumbled something, eyes still shut tight, fists clenched.
"Rudy, it's me—Paul…"
A sharp inhale.
His eyes flew open.
He gasped for air like someone dragging himself out of a nightmare.
***
Time stood still.
Breathing was a struggle. Each inhale cut like blades in my lungs. Even moving my eyes took effort. My whole body felt like it was clamped in iron.
"Rudy." A voice—distant, muffled.
Everything ached. My body was numb, yet hypersensitive to the smallest movement. Even shifting my gaze was an ordeal.
"Are you alright?" A soft voice, familiar.
"Paul?" My voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
Warmth. I was pulled into a firm embrace—too firm. Pain shot through me, sharp and blinding. My stomach turned, sweat broke out cold on my skin.
"Easy... You're okay," he whispered.
A few more seconds passed before the wave of pain receded. I coughed; my throat burned. The fractures in my mind slowly began to mend.
"Water..." I murmured.
Light footsteps. The sound of liquid being poured. Lilia. She brought a cup to my lips. I tried to lift my hand, but couldn't.
"Allow me," she said calmly. But I felt a faint tremor in her fingers as she supported my head.
A sip. Then another. Cool water touched my tongue, spread down my throat, dragging me back to reality. Her hand still trembled, just a little.
She took the cup away. There was worry in her eyes, even if her face remained composed as always.
"How do you feel?" Paul asked gently.
The question hit me. Memories surged forward, sharp and vivid. Images tore through my mind like glass shards. I remembered everything.
The sensation of my hand being ripped apart, flesh tearing, blood spilling down my fingers—panic gripped me.
"My hand! Where's my hand?!"
Zenith laid her hand over mine, firm, steady.
"Easy... it's alright." Her voice was calm—lacking the harshness I'd expected.
I looked down. My arm, wrapped in thick bandages. Whatever was left of it, hidden beneath layers of cloth. I tried to move my fingers. They responded—weakly, slowly, but they moved.
"So... it's still there…" My voice cracked.
I exhaled. Reality seeped back in. I remembered the day with the book, the careless words, the attempt to cast magic. The wind, the blood, the lash of pain.
And something else...
A familiar presence.
Cold, watching. As if something had stared through the veil of that nightmare.
Then another image flashed in my mind—a terrifying scene, a glimpse of something that had no right surfacing. I blinked, trying to push it away. It was too much.
Zenith met my gaze. There was no relief, no joy—just exhaustion. Shadows under her eyes, hair disheveled. Paul sat stiffly, trying to stay composed, but I could tell he still didn't know how to deal with this.
"Rudy," Paul said, voice tight. "That was an unbelievably stupid thing to do."
He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Honestly, I don't even know where to begin…"
"Did you read this book?" Zenith cut in.
She held the grimoire in front of me. Dark cover, faded symbols. Flashes of memory surged—me reciting words, something clicking inside, then the wind tearing me apart.
I swallowed hard.
"Yes," I admitted.
Zenith let out a tired breath and closed her eyes.
"Who taught you to read it?"
"No one."
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't learn it from anyone."
Silence.
I felt nervous. No—scared. Scared they'd think I was a freak.
They might fear me. Or try to fix me. Or worse—get rid of me. The thought made it hard to breathe.
"Then… how did you understand it?" Her voice was sharp, but not angry. She was watching closely.
My heart pounded. I didn't know how to explain. I just… knew. The symbols were unfamiliar, but as I read, their meaning surfaced. Like remembering something I never learned.
"I just… see what they mean. Not all at once, but… I can understand them." My voice trembled.
Zenith studied me for a long moment, then leaned back.
"Magic is dangerous, Rudy. Even most adults can't make sense of books like this. That's why I didn't want you touching it."
I looked around. All eyes were on me. Even though their words were calm, the air was heavy with tension.
"Yeah… I get that now…" I muttered, staring down at my hand.
Phantom pain still throbbed in my joints, reminding me what I'd done to myself. And in their minds—Paul's, Zenith's, even Lilia's—there were questions, doubts, fears. I wasn't getting away from that.
"My hand… it…" My voice wavered.
"You almost lost it, Rudy. If it weren't for me, there's no way we could've put it back together." Zenith's voice was quiet. Her eyes looked dark, empty. Her tone flat, stripped of emotion.
"You were lucky this time. But next time, you might not be." She placed her hand on my head, gently brushing through my hair. "Magic is dangerous…"
"Promise me… promise you won't do it again."
She looked me dead in the eyes, gaze sharp and piercing. It felt like she could see through me—through guilt, confusion, fear. Her pale blue eyes seemed to know everything.
A chill ran down my spine, and my heartbeat quickened as I met her stare.
"But… it's magic…" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
"You've got to be kidding me. You nearly tore your arm off and still want to keep going?!"
Zenith scowled, reading my thoughts. I flinched under the weight of her disapproval.
I stared into space, unable to explain just how important this was to me. I'd had nothing like this in my past life. Now, I'd seen power—felt it. Reached out and touched it. And now I was supposed to just let it go? I couldn't.
Zenith closed her eyes, rubbing her temples.
"I don't understand you…"
Paul gave a faint smile.
"I'm proud of you, Rudy. You actually pulled it off. But I'm also terrified." He exhaled. "If you're serious about magic, you have to do it right. If we let you keep studying it without proper guidance, next time you won't just hurt yourself."
He paused.
"You might kill someone."
The words hit me like a hammer.
I froze.
"But… the grimoire… if I don't learn it…"
My chest tightened. A lump formed in my throat. It took everything I had to ask:
"Can I…?"
They exchanged a look. That silent language only adults seem to speak. After a moment, Zenith gave a reluctant nod.
"We'll find you a teacher… but you're not getting the book. It's combat magic. You don't need to be messing with that."
Disappointment swept over me, but I had no choice. At least they weren't cutting me off entirely.
I gave a small nod.
"…Alright."