Lucian sat cross-legged on the floor, the three pages fanned out before him like sacred scriptures. The laughter from earlier — Erza's bright, bell-like giggle — still echoed faintly in his chest. The streets, the spice, the quiet lake, her shy eyes… it all settled inside him like warmth after rain.
But now, all of it faded.
Right now, he had something to finish.
The spell seemed simple on paper. Built from Sensory Drift, only turned inwards — not toward the world, but toward the body. It would let him see his own mana pathways. To trace. To guide. To reshape.
A whisper of Transmutation.
A dash of Invocation.
A pinch of recklessness.
See. Shape. Flow. Accept. Stabilize.
Five steps. Five chances to get it wrong.
Lucian removed his tunic, setting it aside. The air in the room was cool, but his skin felt warm — too warm. He uncorked the vial of painkillers and mild sedatives Erza had helped him buy and drank half. Enough to dull the fear. Not enough to dull his mind.
Then, silence.
Straight back. Steady breath.
He began.
---
See.
Sensory Drift spiraled inwards, collapsing the world into silence and shadow — not darkness, but something like being underwater.
And then… light.
His mana pathways lit up from within, blue and silver, winding like glowing rivers beneath glass skin. Each pulse matched his heartbeat, dancing to an ancient rhythm.
He inhaled shakily.
---
Shape.
A cluster of runes formed in his mental space — commands, gentle as whispers, urging the mana to shift its routes. Like coaxing the body to flex in ways it never had.
A few lines bent. Others resisted. He grit his teeth.
---
Flow.
A new runic string guided the mana through the evolving design. The pressure built. It hurt — sharp, like glass grinding along nerves. But he didn't stop. He couldn't.
---
Accept.
The crucial step. The runes shimmered, embedding into the pathways, training his body not to resist, not to revert.
His limbs trembled violently. Blood pounded in his ears.
Then — something snapped.
Mana surged, wild and angry, like a dam shattering beneath his skin. He convulsed.
Papers flew. Shelves shook. Light flared violently from his body.
His jaw locked. He couldn't even scream.
But he knew — if he let go now, if he broke concentration — he'd die.
Hold, Lucian. Hold—
---
The door burst open.
Wind and panic rushed in with her.
"You stupid, reckless little—!" Ellie barked as she stormed into the room. She took one look, then dropped beside him.
Her hand touched his back. Warm. Grounding.
Then she flared her own mana — refined, powerful — and linked it to his.
Two circuits. One flow.
Her mana rushed in like scaffolding, reinforcing his frayed edges. Where his control cracked, hers filled the gaps. Where his will faltered, hers surged.
She didn't stop the spell.
She supported it.
"Hold it, Lucian," she growled, trembling. "Just a little longer."
His entire body burned — fire in his bones, lightning in his veins — but he held on.
More mana. More pressure.
"Magic isn't about being clever, you idiot," she muttered, nearly breathless. "It's about being ready."
He heard it. Somewhere. Somehow.
And slowly — agonizingly slowly — the flaring light began to dim. The surges grew calm. The pain eased.
The final rune flickered...
then dissolved.
Lucian collapsed backwards, gasping, steam rising faintly from his skin. Ellie caught him. Her arms were tight, her mana still buffering his like an older current folding around a younger tide.
She pulled his trembling hand over her chest.
"Feel that?" she whispered. "That's my rhythm.
Slow.
Steady.
Now breathe with me, Luci…"
Lucian didn't respond. But he didn't pull away either. He breathed. Let the beat of her mana settle into his own.
Eventually, her voice softened — maternal, worn, almost protective.
"You're going to kill yourself at this rate."
Lucian let out a breathy, half-dead laugh. "Worse ways to go…"
Ellie rolled her eyes. Smacked the back of his head lightly. "Idiot."
She helped him to bed. Draped the blanket over him. Then sat beside him, elbow on the mattress, head resting just beside his hand — still not letting go.
The candle on the desk flickered low, shadows dancing gently on the wall.
Just before sleep claimed him, Lucian whispered:
"…Thank you."
Ellie didn't respond.
But she didn't let go of his hand either.