The summer night breeze touched my skin like an unwashed cold blanket. I pulled my cloak tighter, even though the night sky showed no signs of storm or frost. The air temperature wasn't as cold as yesterday, but it was still unreasonable for summer.
I sat on the edge of the roof facing east, where the treetops were black against the sky. In my hand is a piece of notepad and a piece of charcoal that is too short to hold properly. Every now and then I write a number or a small sketch, then stop to stare at the sky again.
Tonight's Stelluna is almost full—early convex phase—glowing softly in the northwest, hanging low as if too lazy to rise. Meanwhile, Lunara, her majestic older sister, is in the first half of her bright phase, reflecting like a piece of pearl above my head. Neither is completely round yet, but their light is enough to illuminate this small village without the aid of oil lamps.
Stellunar has reached its early convex phase, which will soon reach its peak full moon. The period when Stellunar's light began to fill the sky, but it was not yet completely round. For Lunara, at this point, half of Lunara's face was bright, while the other half was dark. Careful observations were made to ensure that the terminator line was perfectly straight and perpendicular to Lunara's equator, indicating the exact quarter of the cycle.
My hands skillfully drew and wrote.
Then, my eyes fell on three stars that formed a crooked triangle pattern in the northern sky. It wasn't a constellation I had learned about in astronomy books on Earth—it was clearly not Orion, Ursa, or Sagittarius. But over the past five months, I had come to recognize it. I named it "Southern Fang," because its shape reminded me of the symbol of a pirate's crooked fang.
The brightest star on the left shoulder of Southern Fang was perfectly aligned with a certain culmination point above the Northwest Horizon.
By observing the sky for a whole week, I realized that the days here were too short for summer. But the sky doesn't lie—wildflowers bloom faster, small birds come out earlier, and the temperature rises even though the sun's rays only tease from the horizon.
I grab my notebook and jot down some rough numbers—the duration of the night, the angle of the moon's path, and the position of the constellations. I stare at them for a long time, trying to make sense of them with the logic I have.
"Too fast... Even though the sun only appeared briefly this afternoon. But the wildflowers are blooming as if it were the middle of summer."
My brow furrowed. On Earth, seasons like this usually come slowly. There is a pattern. There is a stable transition period. But here?
"Everything seems rushed."
I took a breath, trying to cool my head. But the cold air that pierced my skin only made everything worse. Summer, they say. But on a night like this, the air feels bone-chilling.
"If this is summer, why does the afternoon feel like autumn?" I muttered irritably.
My hand pressed against my forehead. Maybe I miscalculated. But... my body doesn't lie. I get tired quickly during the day, but my mind stays sharp at night. My body has even gotten used to sleeping from midday until early evening. As if the world is asking people to become night creatures.
Wait... could it be... the sun is too low? Or is the position of the planets just odd?
I roughly sketched out the shape of the orbit. But the more I wrote, the less sense it made. There was no definite explanation. No numbers that fit.
"Ah... damn, crazy planet," I muttered as I leaned against the chimney.
I closed my eyes, trying to distract myself from the sky that was frustrating me. But when I closed my eyes, I felt it instead—a faint vibration in my chest, like a whisper slipping through the air.
Not strong, not rough, just a faint vibration—like someone tapping from behind my ribs. My eyes opened slowly. I could feel it—little spirits gathering at the edge of the forest. Not evil ones, just curious ones. They were attracted by the light of the two moons.
The feeling that something was floating above the grass and bushes, touching the air and bending the wind.
I sat up straight and raised my hand, making a small tapping motion on my forehead with my finger to create a vision of spirits—not to see supernatural beings, but to clarify the energy patterns in the air. Like a resonance graph, only without numbers and coordinate axes.
And indeed—from the forest, faint lines like smoke floated toward the village. Slowly, quietly, as if tracing an invisible path.
Faint paths stretch from the forest to the village, as if spirits were building their own footpaths.
Interesting. They're not usually this active unless they're approaching the Double Light.
|Additional note: Perhaps this is an initial effect, or a delayed wave of magic.|
I write slowly. My hands move nimbly, but my eyes are still fixed on the sky.
...I leaned back with a sigh. I left my notebook open beside me. This sky, this world... never answers directly.
"At least I can still feel it," I muttered softly.
I lowered my gaze from the sky to the ground, letting my eyes wander over the small village that lay quietly below.
Aethelgard.
The name was too grand for a village that resembled more of a permanent camp. But after five months of living here, I began to accept that this place was not just a stopover.
Rough stone houses with pointed roofs stood close together, forming short rows that looked like the ribs of a prehistoric creature. Most were built close together, perhaps to conserve heat or prevent the wind from blowing through the gaps.
In the distance, wisps of smoke could be seen rising from houses that still had their stoves lit. Even in summer, the night air was still biting, piercing through coats and making breath appear like steam.
Summer? Hmm... if this is what they call "warm," I dread to imagine what winter will be like.
I shifted my gaze to the outskirts of the village.
To the north, the forest was dark, like a pile of thick shadows. Frostwood, as the locals called it. That place always felt like it was staring back, like a black hole silently watching.
To the east, the mountain peaks sharpened like stone spears jutting out of the earth. There was only one entrance from that direction, and even that was a sharp, winding path through cliffs and ravines. I could see a slight reflection of light from the eternal snow that still lingered there, even in the hot month of summer.
As for the west... the pine trees were more sparsely lined up, and the wind from there felt more friendly. People called it the "western guard," either because of its shape or because the direction of the setting sun made it seem more tame.
But that doesn't mean it's safe.
In the south, the land turns into a rough, uneven path of rocks and natural debris. Rima calls it a rocky field. I call it a place where even the grass is too lazy to grow.
This village is embraced by nature—not with warmth, but with a silent and slightly frightening vigilance. It's as if the world is saying, "You can stay... but don't try to disturb the balance."
I sat quietly for a few seconds, letting it all sink in.
"Too narrow to run, too wide to hide," I muttered. It was a sentence I uttered without realizing it, but it seemed to describe this village perfectly.
My eyes fixed on a single point: the old clock tower that no longer worked. The clock had stopped at some unknown point in time, but it still stood in the middle of the village, like a guard who had forgotten how to speak. For some reason, I liked this place—and yet I didn't.
There was something about it that made me feel at ease, and something else that made me want to keep watch.
I closed my notebook and slipped it into my coat.
"Enough for tonight," I whispered.
As I prepared to climb down from the roof, my footsteps faltered for a moment. I gazed at the moon once more. Two moons, two lights, two different gravitational pulls... and for some reason, I felt drawn to both.
The night wind touched my skin like the touch of a spirit that hadn't yet spoken. This was where the strangeness lay—I knew this world wasn't Earth, but sometimes my brain still tried to equate the two. It still rejected illogicalities. Two moons should make the tides unstable. Should... I don't know what else should happen. But here, all that happened was... feeling. A feeling of fullness. A feeling that was almost explosive.
I took a deep breath, as if trying to absorb not only the air, but also the invisible rhythm flowing from the sky.
Then, like a soft ringing in my body—it was time to go back downstairs.
The old wooden stairs creaked softly as I descended to the first floor. There was still a slight chill in the air, even though the small fireplace in the corner of the room had begun to warm the stone house. The yellow light from the oil lamp cast faint shadows on the walls, moving slowly like spirits that had not yet gone to sleep.
In the kitchen, the scent of stale herbs and burning wood greeted me, characteristic of an old stone house trying too hard to be warm. In the corner of the room, I headed straight for the bread rack and began searching for something to fill my stomach.
Rima sat in her old chair, her body leaning slightly forward. Her eyes stared blankly at the dying embers of the fire. Dark circles hung clearly under her eyelids, and her silvery black hair was loosely braided, leaving a few strands to fall freely down her cheeks.
I paused for a moment, staring at her back, which looked more fragile than usual. Something was wrong. But she was still Rima—calm, stubborn, and always seemingly preoccupied with her own thoughts.
"I'm done," I said, placing my observations on the wooden table near her.
Rima didn't answer right away. She slowly shifted her gaze, read the first page, then flipped through the pages one by one with her wrinkled fingers. Meanwhile, I took a piece of hard bread, tore it, then took a lettuce leaf and a piece of salted mushroom from a clay jar.
There was a short sigh when she saw one of the lines.
"You even noted the difference in temperature between the air and the roof tiles," she said flatly. "And... the time the owl hooted."
"The sound of an owl could be an indicator of spirit movement. Or maybe I'm just hungry," I said, arranging the mushrooms on the bread like a small puzzle. "The important part—I feel cool writing that."
"At least you didn't note the number of stars that twinkled."
I raised my eyebrows and pointed to the scroll on the table. "It's under the wind change. Along with the direction the bats fly."
Rima slowly closed the book, looking at me for the first time that night. Her eyes looked dull, sad, and tired. But I knew that gaze held something—pressure? Worry? I don't know, there were too many emotions in one gaze.
I took a bite of my not-so-successful sandwich. "Want some?" I offered, holding it out to her.
She stared at the sandwich for a moment. "It looks like a leaf lost in mushroom ruins."
"I call it Green Catastrophe. Wild rustic style," I replied casually.
Rima shook her head slightly, whether because of the sandwich or because of me. "You've noted the Lunara and Stellunar phases quite accurately."
"Of course. Lunara is in its first half, Stellunar is in its early convex phase, almost full moon, almost mid-month," I replied as I sat down. "I feel the spirit activity has increased sharply tonight. Like... the air feels full."
"And that bothers you?" she asked softly.
"No. But it makes me wonder. Why do spirits feel active when Stellunar begins to shine? Shouldn't Lunara be the one connected to the spirit realm?"
Rima sighed. Her hand gripped the notebook tighter than usual. "You're forgetting one thing," she said lightly. "Stellunar influences the spirits of nature. Lunara opens the spirit gate. When the two are in rhythm... the world is never truly silent."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're saying it's as if... we literally live side by side."
She just nodded slightly. "That's right."
I chewed slowly, then stared at the ceiling. "Okay. But why are there no definite references? Not a single book about the position of the moon and spirit activity? It's like driving without a map, with spirits as traffic."
"Because not everyone feels it the same way, Shinna," she replied. "For some witches, it's like hearing a song. For others... it's like pressure. You, it seems, lean more towards logic and drama."
"That's not fair. I need something definite. I can't just... 'feel' it," I glanced at my sandwich. "There are too many methods for a small body like this."
Rima leaned back, staring at me for a long time. Then, suddenly, she asked, "How has your body been feeling lately? Any sudden changes, maybe... towards evening? Or the beginning of the month?"
I furrowed my brow. "What do you mean...?"
She didn't answer right away, just stared at the fire. Then she said, "Female witches... tend to be more... connected to their cycles. It can strengthen or weaken them depending on the moment. Lunara's influence is usually felt most strongly... yes, around that time."
"Oh..." I looked down. "I thought I was just in a bad mood yesterday because my sandwich failed."
Rima didn't respond, just sipped the tea that had appeared in her hand at some point. Then she stood up, took a book from the shelf, and placed it in front of me.
"In that case, understand this. It's more suitable for people who want calculations."
I turned to the first page. A series of formulas and symbols greeted me like monsters from the depths of a cave. This... gravitational calculations, mass distribution, pressure—I recognized some of it. This wasn't magic. It was physics. Pure mathematics.
"What is this?" I asked, suspecting a trap.
"Part of the theory of disguising magic," she replied, staring at me intently. "Magic is... liar. It's illogical. If you can make it seem logical, then you can hide it. That's one of the paths taken by old witches."
I nodded slowly. "Like an illusion," I muttered.
Rima narrowed her eyes. "An illusion?"
"Like in a bar," I added the last piece, "I only used a little magic, but mostly illusion. Light tricks. Psychology. Visual focus, directed attention. One thin thread to make the cards float, the rest is a game of perception. It hides the traces of magic."
Rima suddenly fell silent. Her gaze was empty—empty and full at the same time. Like someone who had just heard news about something that had been worrying her, but ended well.
The tension on her face eased little by little. Her breathing sounded lighter. Her shoulders relaxed, and for the first time that night, I saw that her mouth wasn't as tight as before.
"I see..." she whispered. Then she laughed softly, sarcastically. "So you tricked them all. Including me."
I raised an eyebrow. "You're not impressed?"
"Oh, I'm impressed. I'm just amazed at how a dumb kid like you managed to save yourself without realizing you almost caused a disaster." She shook her head, still laughing softly. "You're a natural trickster, Shinna."
I smiled proudly. "Thank you, I take that as a compliment."
"Don't." She stood up, picked up the glass of water that had started to fog up, and took a sip. "It's regret."
I tilted my head, still sitting while chewing the last of my sandwich. "Regret? You mean, you regret teaching me?"
"No," she said softly, but her eyes didn't meet mine. "Maybe. I don't know."
That's it? No elaboration? No words of wisdom? I waited a few seconds, but she just stared into her glass, as if the answer lay at the bottom of the water, which was never clear enough to read.
Then she walked over to the shelf in the corner, her hands moving automatically, taking a small roll containing dried leaves, a pinch of root powder, and linen bags hanging near the shelf. Several clay jars were opened, sniffed, then closed again. I just stared silently while swallowing the rest of my sandwich.
"Your knowledge is still shallow," she muttered between activities. "And I'm too old to guide a child who is smarter than they should be."
I chuckled softly, but he didn't respond. His hands moved nimbly, mixing, sifting, measuring.
I went to the sink near the back door, washed my hands, and splashed a little water on my face. Outside, the light of the second moon was clearly visible through the small window. Lunara was already half risen, Stellunar almost full. I narrowed my eyes. "Time to start work?"
"Ever since you opened your mouth," she said flatly.
I sat back down, picking up the small book she had given me earlier—the beginning contained an introduction to the methods of magical concealment. But what caught my attention were the pages that followed, which contained spells with very strange forms. Unlike ordinary spells that focused on will and direction, these were like... formulas.
It was like... translating logic into speech. Or more accurately, trying to subdue something abstract by forcing a human structure onto it.
I could see it. The arrangement of numbers and symbols was like it was combined with Alseryn phonetics. I didn't understand everything, but the patterns... felt like spoken algorithms.
"Mathematics?" I asked without realizing it.
Rima turned her head slightly. "Yes."
I didn't answer. In my mind, mathematics has always been the basis of everything. I even thought—ah, it doesn't matter now. What is clear is that I agree. This science cannot be ignored, even in magic.
"Mathematics provides tools," said Rima as she poured herbal liquid into a small bottle. "A framework for approaching regularity. Magic... comes from a place that has no regularity. But this world—the physical realm—is not like that."
She turned and looked at me. "When magic crosses the boundary from the spirit world to the real world, it must obey. Otherwise, it will be wild. It becomes unstable."
I bit my lower lip. "So... we rewrite the rules? With logic?"
"Not rewrite," she replied, now taking a small sprig of moss from a high shelf. "But... disguise the magic so that it appears to originate from here. From the physical realm."
I looked at the book page again. "But the concept of magic... is too surreal. Too abstract. I don't think everything can be translated into numbers. Maybe it shouldn't be."
Rima nodded. "Because that's not the only approach. But this is important. For stability. For safety."
The narrative in my mind was spinning fast. If logic could tame one side... then what about the other? The abstract, the formless?
Perhaps—perhaps—there was a branch of science that was more suitable.
Metaphysics... I think slowly. It's the only discipline that bridges the gap between what cannot be explained and what is being explained.
But I haven't said it yet. It's still too early. Even for me.
Rima placed the last bottle, arranging them in a round wooden tub. "You still have a lot to learn," she said, her expression neutral. "Chemistry and botany."
"Oh. Potions and ingredients."
"More than just potions. Understand the essence of materials, their reactions, their origins, their interactions with natural energy and spirits. This is where many witches fail—they think a leaf is just a leaf. But a leaf can summon a storm."
I stared at the fire. For some reason, that sentence... sounded really cool. A leaf can summon a storm. I have to write that in my journal, or at least... make it the name of my next sandwich.