The night had grown colder in the Black Mage Village, though none of its inhabitants truly noticed the chill. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their flickering flames like fragile wards against the darkness. The silence that clung to the graveyard felt different from the rest of the village—heavier, older, as though every mound of earth whispered stories of lives too brief.
Vivi stood quietly beside No. 288, his small frame trembling in the moonlight. His glowing eyes traced the rows of wooden markers, each one a simple testament to an existence already gone. For a long while, neither of them spoke. Only the night insects filled the air with their rhythmic hum.
Finally, Vivi broke the silence, his voice hesitant and small. "Did you… know them? The ones who stopped moving?"
288's head dipped, his wide-brimmed hat casting a shadow across his glowing eyes. "Yes. Some were my friends. Some I only spoke to once. But they were all like us—born from mist, shaped for war. That was our purpose. To fight. To die."
The words pressed into Vivi's chest like cold stone. He shuffled closer to one of the graves, staring at the uneven letters carved into the marker. His voice cracked. "Then… why live here? Why make a village if… if it always ends like this?"
288's gaze drifted toward the huts beyond the clearing. Soft lights still glimmered in their windows. He could hear faint murmurs, the laughter of a few children still awake. His voice carried a quiet weight, not sadness but certainty. "Because not all of us wanted to be soldiers. Some wanted to cook. To plant. To play music. To watch the stars. Even if we were made for battle, we still… feel. We still dream."
Vivi's glowing eyes widened. The idea was both simple and revolutionary to him. "So… we're not just tools?"
"Not unless we choose to be." 288's tone firmed, a conviction honed not in battle but in reflection. "That is the fear that spread through us—when we realized we were more than the war we were created for. But along with that realization came another truth: no matter what we do, one day we stop moving. That is why we fear. Because every day could be the last."
The words carved deep. Vivi clutched his staff until his hands shook. He had always feared stopping, the possibility lingering at the back of his mind, unspoken. To hear it laid bare, so calmly, was almost unbearable.
"I don't want to stop," Vivi whispered, his voice trembling. "Not yet. Not before I understand who I am. Not before I see more of the world with my friends."
288 turned to him, his eyes softer now, the faintest shimmer of something human flickering in them. He stepped closer and rested a hand lightly on Vivi's shoulder. The touch was gentle, steadying. "Then do so. Every moment you have, use it. Fill it with what matters. Fear will never leave you, but courage can walk beside it."
Vivi's breath shook, his small chest rising and falling. "I… I'll try. But it's scary. It feels like… like time is always slipping away."
288 looked back at the graves. "It is. For all of us. But that is why we live. Because we know it won't last forever, we hold each moment tighter."
The silence that followed was not empty but thoughtful, filled with the weight of truth.
Then, after a long pause, 288 seemed to remember something. He hesitated, his hand twitching slightly, before turning toward the forest's edge. "Come. There is something I must show you."
Vivi blinked in surprise, but his feet moved almost on their own. He followed 288 down a narrow trail, past the last of the huts, where the lanterns faded and moonlight filtered through the canopy. The forest pressed close, damp and whispering with the wings of moths.
At last, 288 stopped before a hollowed tree. The trunk was old, its bark scarred, its insides carved into a small alcove. He reached into the hollow slowly, carefully, as if retrieving something precious. When his hand withdrew, it held a small object that glimmered faintly in the moonlight.
"This," 288 said softly, "is for you."
Vivi tilted his head, eyes wide. "What is it?"
"A trinket," 288 answered, pressing it gently into Vivi's hands. "A good luck charm."
The words were simple, but the moment carried a strange weight. Vivi looked down and saw a small pendant, its surface a swirl of metal and crystal. The crystal pulsed faintly, as if a heartbeat lived within it, casting soft light against his gloves.
Vivi hesitated, almost afraid it would vanish if he held it too tightly. When his fingers finally closed around it, warmth spread from his palms up his arms and into his chest. His breath caught. His glowing eyes widened, shimmering with the pendant's faint reflection.
"I've… felt this before," Vivi whispered. A tremor ran through him. "Somewhere… but I don't remember…"
288 tilted his head. "Perhaps you will. Perhaps not. What matters is that you keep it close. One day, it may turn your luck when you need it most."
Vivi clutched the trinket against his chest. The warmth comforted him, steadying his trembling heart. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he smiled weakly. "…Thank you."
288 chuckled softly, the sound strange but kind. "Good luck… charm. That is what it is. So, good luck."
For a heartbeat, Vivi froze, then let out a shaky laugh—awkward, but genuine. "Good luck… charm… heh… I get it."
The two stood there together in the forest's hush, their shared laughter faint but real. It was small, but in that moment, it felt like defiance—a refusal to let despair take everything.
---
From the distance, Sirius watched. His form was cloaked in shadow, his presence hidden from mortal eyes, yet the threads of destiny shimmered clearly before him. His gaze locked on Vivi clutching the trinket, the boy's glowing eyes glistening with tears and hope alike.
So… the deal is done. 288 has passed it on. And now the thread tightens.
His eyes narrowed, a faint glimmer of resolve in their depths. This child bears more than most grown men could endure. But that is why he was chosen. Through sorrow, he learns compassion. Through fear, he learns courage. And one day, through despair, he will learn strength.
The wind stirred, rustling the leaves like whispers of unseen voices. Sirius's cloak shifted, catching the moonlight. He lowered his head slightly, speaking to the night as though it alone could hear.
"Then I will also do my part."
The vow lingered in the darkness, unbroken. The graves stood silent witnesses behind them, the huts of the village slept uneasily, and at the forest's edge, a boy with glowing eyes clutched a charm that would one day shape the course of his fate.
The lanterns burned low. The mist deepened. And beneath it all, a fragile thread gleamed brighter in the weave of destiny—woven from grief, hope, and the quiet courage of a small mage who refused to stop moving.