Sitting on the windowsill, I flipped through a book.
"Horrors of the White World."
"…In the white world there are only three truly dangerous creatures. All of them vile, monstrous, repulsive to the light of the Creator. So know, good followers of Millis, the beings most abhorrent to His radiance: the Migurds. The Supards. The Eternal.
Let us begin with the most loathsome and cunning. The tribe of the Migurds, also known as the Mind Burners.
These telepaths can not only read thoughts, but impose them. With their revolting abilities, they plant unholy visions into good believers, distort their perception, alter reality. The most skilled can erase memory or convince a person that he is already dead. But that is not the worst. Their name — Mind Burners — is not just a figure of speech. They can burn your brain alive.
Know your enemy by sight: blue hair, youthful skin without wrinkles even in old age, short stature — on average 140–150 cm. They live up to 200 years, but rarely leave their lands."
With each day, I learned more about the world. But considering the church edited this book, believing it blindly would be foolish.
Mind Burners? Sounds way too horrifying. I wouldn't want anyone reading my thoughts. And what if someone found out I was from another world? That was dangerous. I had no idea what would happen to me if anyone figured that out.
When would the teacher they promised me finally arrive? My desire to use magic grew stronger with each passing day. How long did I have to wait?
Lifting my eyes to the window, I saw a falling star in the night sky.
***
Early morning.
Dew still clung to the grass, and the roosters had only just begun crowing. A few people were already scattered about, doing their chores.
Along the long road, a small figure rode slowly on horseback.
A travel cloak hid her body, and a pointed hat sat on her head. The horse was weighed down with numerous bags, but the most curious thing was the long white staff with blue crystals at its tip. Mysterious runes ran all along its length.
The figure held the staff in one hand, leaning it against her leg like a support.
She tilted her head, studying the village ahead.
"Is this it or not?.. Which idiot decided to live in this hole?.."
Muttering irritably to herself, she wondered who she should ask for directions. Luckily, a few people were standing near a fence close by. The horse headed straight toward them.
The closer she rode, the more attention she drew. Finally, one of the men — sturdy, with long mustaches — stepped forward and shouted gruffly:
"Who the hell are you?!"
The figure only smirked and lifted her hat, revealing her face.
"A guest you weren't expecting, but you'll have to deal with it."
Smirking, she watched the man's expression change.
"You're a woman?!" Then his eyes shifted to the staff in her hand. "And what's that?!"
"That's a staff, can't you see?" — the man behind him suddenly perked up. "A damned witch woman!"
The figure rolled her eyes.
"Brilliant. Real investigators at work."
The mustached man frowned, but before he could say anything, the one behind him gasped in horror:
"She's a witch! Burn her to hell!"
The girl frowned, tapping the staff wearily with her finger.
"Oh, let's not. I'm tired, hungry, and not in the mood to play witch hunt. Paul Greyrat — does he live here? I'm his guest."
The man choked on his words, glancing nervously at the staff. The one behind him began muttering prayers.
"Everything's always wrong with that family…" the men whispered among themselves — "…first the son's strange, then magic blows up their house…"
"Listen here, witch!" — the sturdy man in front took a deep breath — "You're an outsider. We don't want your kind here."
The girl tilted her head, lazily looking him over.
"Oh really… So you don't want me here?"
She sighed theatrically, jumped off the horse, and took a few steps forward, tapping the staff against the ground.
"Alright. Let's settle this like humans. We're all people here, not demons or whatever. Heh-heh. I'll leave…"
The man was already puffing up with self-importance, but the girl continued:
"…But first I'll turn you into a frog. Just to be fair."
The crowd tensed. The mustached man grimaced, glancing again at her staff.
"You threatening me, witch?"
The girl smiled slightly.
"No, no. Just explaining the rules of the game. You don't like me — I don't like you. The question is who'll outlive whom."
Someone behind the man swallowed nervously.
"So, genius? Where does Paul live?"
The man wanted to say something, but one look at the staff drained the arrogance out of him. Grumbling, he pointed toward a distant house.
"There. Do your business and get the hell out of my village!"
The girl nodded with a smirk.
"Oh, don't worry. I won't stay any longer than I have to."
She took the horse's reins and headed in the indicated direction, leaving tense silence behind her.
After a few steps, without turning around, she added over her shoulder:
"And if you see any frogs — don't kick them. Might be your brother."
Someone behind her made a nervous noise, but no one dared respond.
***
Standing in the yard, I practiced sword strikes. A daily routine I'd been doing for a year now. I had recently turned six. Birthdays in this world were only celebrated at five, ten, and fifteen, so there was no celebration. Just an ordinary day.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a figure approaching the house. The white horse looked expensive — tall, strong, nothing like the village nags. Paul also had a well-bred horse, but this one looked even more impressive.
The figure kept getting closer. My heart sped up. Hope flickered. Could it be…?
Throwing the sword aside, I moved toward the gate. With every step, the rider became clearer. The pointed hat looked cartoonish, but maybe that was just wizard fashion. In her hand was a long staff that practically screamed, "I'm magical."
I held my breath. She jumped down from the horse.
"Is this Paul Greyrat's house?"
A girl. A very short girl. Her travel cloak was covered in dust. Her clothes looked practical, embroidered with runes in various places.
But what shocked me most was her face. Young. Far too young.
My hope collapsed immediately. They told me magic was difficult, but she looked so young. She was the one who needed a teacher, not me.
"You deaf or what?.."
"...Yeah."
"Seriously deaf?"
"Ah! No. Not that." I hesitated. "Yes, this is Paul's house."
"Good then. Are you his youngest? Take me to your father. I was told his son shows…" She looked around, smirking crookedly, "…'talent'."
"Well… that's me… I mean, you're the teacher…"
I said it out loud, and it felt awkward. Months of waiting — and here she was. The teacher…
"You?"
Her gaze slid over me from top to bottom.
"Ha! Funny…"
But then her eyes caught the scars on my arm. Something changed in them.
"That's a 'Wind Scythe'? And that strong too… Who marked you up like that?"
Her face grew serious, her stare cutting through me. I felt uneasy.
"I… read the words from a grimoire, and it—"
"Liar!"
"No!"
She sighed heavily, as if she had lost track of where the joke ended and seriousness began.
"Should I repeat the spell then?"
"Go ahead. Surprise me."
Her tone — mocking, careless — suddenly irritated me. A wave of fear rose in my chest but dissolved into stubbornness. Zenith forbade me from repeating those words. But this was a magic teacher. That meant I could…
"Um… ahem… Fine…"
"Okay, joke's over. Can I walk into the yard now?" Her gaze drifted past me, studying the yard.
I needed to repeat the spell. Symbols in an unfamiliar language slowly surfaced in my mind. On their own. Without effort. One… two… ten.
"**Wind, become a blade.**"
My lips shaped the unfamiliar sounds on their own. The air stirred and swirled. The girl's attention snapped to me.
"Dis—Kha!"
"Enough!"
Her staff smacked me on the head. I stumbled, and the wind faded.
The girl seemed to notice me for the first time. Examining me with a sharp, focused gaze, she concentrated even more on my scars.
"Where did you learn that language?"
"I didn't learn it… I don't know it at all…"
"Mmm… I've already lost track of when you're joking and when you're serious."
She exhaled, lowering her staff.
"Seriously now. Spells are cast in the magical language — you can't just say them."
"I'm completely serious. I've never studied it… the words just appear in my head by themselves."
She looked at me closely, as if reassessing.
"Huh… Seems we've got ourselves a little prodigy… Rare to meet someone who hasn't learned to wipe his own backside yet but is already trying to kill himself with magic."
I flinched. Her mocking tone annoyed me. Her young face, the way she spoke. That feeling that I was a child and she… wasn't.
"I showed what I can do. And you? Are you even a mage?"
"Me? No. I just wave my arms really confidently."
She smirked, clicking her tongue.
"So are we going to stand here, or will you let me pass?"
I stepped aside, opening the gate. She walked through like she owned the place, without waiting for an invitation. The horse stayed by the fence, chewing on the ear of some shrub.
"Paul's inside," I said, catching up to her.
"Good. And you, since you're so talkative, will tell me what you've been doing before I arrived. Besides trying to commit magical suicide."
"Training. With a sword."
"Amazing. A sword, magic, a personality worse than a stray dog's… Who's raising you?"
"Paul." I wasn't sure why I said it. She didn't even know who that was.
"Ah… right."
No. Why was she leading the way? As if she was used to walking into any place. I walked ahead, passing her. Now she followed me.
"My name is Roxy," she said casually. "And you, oh great sorcerer with a Wind Scythe up your sleeve, what's your name?"
I turned back. She looked at me with narrowed eyes, something between a joke and interest dancing in them.
"Rudeus," I said, restrained. "Rudeus Greyrat."
"Rudeus," she repeated, as if tasting the name. "Mmm… sounds important. You can hear it: 'I'm not just a five-year-old child, I'm practically a catastrophe.'"
"I'm six."
"Oh, sorry. Then you're not just a problem — you're a problem with history."
I sighed.
She snorted, shaking her head.
"Alright, Rudeus. Show me where your father is. Before you summon a hurricane. Or turn someone into a frog. Though maybe it already happened and I'm just late…"