Arin clutched the tattered journal like a lifeline, fingers tightening around the worn leather cover as though it might vanish at any moment. He broke into a run, wind combing through his hair as he dashed through the village, heart pounding with anticipation. He had to show his mother- she would understand what this meant.
As he ran, flickers of soft light danced across the cobbled path. Each house along the narrow lane had a tall, curved lighting staff standing before it. They glowed with an ethereal light- not fire, not flame. No smoke curled into the sky. Arin glanced at one as he passed. What magic was this? The light shimmered like liquid moonlight, casting long, flickering shadows on the ground. His own shadow danced wildly beside him, mimicking his sprint with ghostly grace.
He reached his home and skidded to a stop, dust rising at his feet. Bent over, gasping for breath, he planted one hand on his knee, the other still clutching the journal as if it might fly away.
Lyra burst through the door at the sound, worry etched across her face.
"Arin? What happened? Are you alright?" she asked, eyes scanning him for injury.
Still panting, Arin held out the journal.
"Ma… ma! You… have to see this. Please!"
Lyra stepped forward quickly, gently taking the old book from his trembling hands.
"Slow down, Arin," she said with a calming tone. "Breathe. We have all the time in the world. Here, drink this."
She handed him a cup of cool water and guided him to sit down.
As Arin took a few deep gulps, Lyra opened the journal. Her breath caught. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned the delicate pages, her eyes tracing the familiar strokes of ink.
She froze.
The moment lingered. Her eyes glistened- not with fear, but with remembrance. Memories surfaced like ripples in a pond. Arin watched her carefully.
"Mama… are you okay? Do you think- could it really be Father's journal?"
Lyra blinked and looked at him, a soft, bittersweet smile on her lips.
"Yes, Arin. This handwriting… there's no doubt. It's your father's. This must be his journal."
Her voice was warm, but Arin caught the tremble behind it, the sorrow she tried to bury beneath her calm.
"Can I read it?" he asked, leaning forward, excitement edging into his tone. "I didn't check much- there might be clues… about where he went."
Lyra hesitated. She knew her son well- once he started reading, he'd lose track of time, and there was the school test tomorrow. But her curiosity burned just as fiercely. She wanted to dive into those pages, to see if any answers waited in the margins.
"The journal's very old and damaged," she said gently, weighing her words. "But since I know your father's handwriting so well, I'll copy it into a new book for you. That way it's safe and easier to read. I promise I'll be quick."
Arin's shoulders slumped. "But… what if there are clues? I don't want to wait-"
"I'll be fast," Lyra reassured him. "And you have a big test tomorrow. Do well on that, and I promise the journal will be ready by the time you're back."
Arin frowned, clearly torn, but eventually nodded. "Alright, mama…"
He dragged himself to his room, collapsed onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling, countless thoughts swirling.
"Will there be any clues about Father?"
"What about the whispers… did he hear them too?"
"Did he write about his travels? His spells? His secrets?"
"What if… what if he left a message for me?"
His eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted toward sleep, his mind a whirlwind of questions.
> Come… release… me…
A whisper, soft as breath and laced with something ancient, echoed in his ears just as he slipped into slumber. A chill stirred the room.
---
In the hall, Lyra sat at the table, the journal open before her. She carefully copied the text into a fresh leather -bound book using her inkwood pen, filled with a plant-based blend she'd crafted herself. The night was quiet- until it wasn't.
With a sudden shimmer, the old journal vanished from her hands.
She gasped and jumped to her feet.
A heartbeat later, she found Arin asleep, his brow furrowed, a faint frown tugging at his face. The tattered journal was now cradled in his arms, clutched tightly in his sleep.
Her pulse raced.
Could this be magic? Space magic? But Arin was just a child. And not even one attuned to the space element.
And he was still asleep.
"Can people… cast magic in their dreams?" she whispered to the quiet room.
She gently pried the journal from his arms, careful not to wake him, then returned to the table. Her hand trembled slightly as she resumed copying, murmuring,
"I hope it doesn't vanish again before I finish…"
---
Morning.
Arin yawned as sunlight poured through the wooden shutters. He went about his morning routine and then padded into the hall, calling out.
"Mama?"
He found her asleep in the chair, head resting on one hand, ink pen still clutched in the other. He rushed to her.
"Mama! You never sleep in so late- are you okay?"
Lyra stirred and blinked herself awake. "Oh dear… is it morning already?" She smiled tiredly. "Yes, I'm alright. Just a little tired. Are you hungry?"
"I'm fine! Just a bit hungry," he said with a grin.
"Well then," she said, stretching with a soft groan, "help me make breakfast. I worked hard last night copying the journal, so you'll have to earn your meal today."
"Sure, mama!" Arin chirped, excitement returning to his voice.
---
After a simple breakfast of hot graincakes and berry syrup, Arin finally asked,
"Did you finish the journal? Did Father write anything about his disappearance?"
Lyra sighed, resting her hands on the warm table.
"I think this is a journal from his time at the South Academy… and a bit from his travels. Nothing about his disappearance. This was written long before you were born."
Arin looked down, disappointment flickering in his eyes. "I see…"
"But," she added quickly, "he wrote many things. About the Academy, the elders and magic faculty… and the library- it was huge, apparently." She smiled fondly.
"He also wrote about encounters with magic beasts, and even marked some natural treasure locations… things like that."
Arin's eyes widened. Elder Marn once said that natural treasures were always guarded by magic beasts, attuned to the energies of the land.
"I can read it after school, right?" he asked.
"Of course," Lyra said. "But first- your test."
"Oh! Right…" Arin scratched his head sheepishly, then perked up again.
"Can I bring Kael over after school? He's the one who found the journal in the library."
Lyra raised a brow. "Only if he promises not to trample my herb garden. That boy's always up to something."
Arin laughed. "I know! I'll make sure he doesn't mess anything up."
---
After a while, Arin was running once again- this time along the curved houses toward the distant Academy training hall. Panic nipped at his heels. He couldn't afford to miss the test. Not today.
He burst into the hall just as the elder stepped forward.
"Right on time, idiot!" Kael whispered, grinning. "Elder was about to start!"
Elder Marn's gaze slid to Arin with mild irritation.
"Don't be late next time, Arin. The test won't wait for anyone."
Arin bowed quickly.
"I'm sorry, Elder Marn. I won't be late again."
"Good. Now… let us begin."
He gestured to the center of the hall, where various materials had been laid out in neat rows.
"These are the basic catalysts- items you've used during practice over the last two years. Today's test will measure your command over all the primary elements."
The class murmured with interest.
"Some of you might have wondered," Elder Marn continued, hands behind his back, "why we've made you practice magic with elements you hold no affinity for."
He paused, letting the question settle.
"Why would someone without affinity for fire or earth, water or wind, be made to train with them?"
Several hands shot up.
Elder Marn nodded, then continued.
"There are methods- rare and demanding- that allow a person to awaken new elemental affinities in the future. But without familiarity with that element, such a feat becomes near impossible."
He let the weight of his words hang in the air.
"That's why you've practiced relentlessly. Because only through familiarity can resonance be formed. Only with resonance can Soul Marks one day open the path to multiple affinities. If that resonance fades with time- if the element becomes a stranger to your soul- you will regret not having practiced."
He looked at each of them with measured pride.
"Some have regretted. But you? You've done well. You've practiced. You've endured. And now, let's see the results of that effort."
He clapped once, sharp and clear.
"Begin!"
The children moved to their stations, where simple tools awaited- dried leaves for fire magic, small low-density stones for earth, a liquid blend that shimmered blue for water, wind crystals, and more.
Arin stepped forward, feeling the faint thrum of magic in the air.
It was time.