The sun rose over the horizon, bathing the world in golden light. Noah had wandered aimlessly all night. Ever since leaving the bar, he had felt like a zombie, moving without purpose or direction. His memories of the previous night were blurred, like a warped dream.
The last thing he could clearly remember was finding a woman being attacked in a dark alley. After that, everything turned into darkness. He had sunk into an endless lake, watching the world from afar as though he were just a spectator.
But of one thing he was certain: he had killed someone.
And the worst part? He felt nothing. In fact, there was a strange sense of satisfaction, as though a hollow place inside him had finally been filled.
"Does this make me a monster?" he muttered, staring at his bloodstained hands. They trembled slightly, but not out of fear or regret. "They were bad people. Doesn't that make me a hero instead?"
No. He knew it wasn't that simple.
He felt lost, confused. Why did he feel this way? He had almost forgotten. For a moment, he had lost sight of the reason for his whole journey of self-acceptance. It was about mastering the mind arts, wasn't it? What did he even want anymore? To accept his memories? Hadn't he already overcome grief? What else was left?
Once again, he looked down at his hands. The blood on them pulled him back into that night—into that terrible scene. The blood of his grandfather trickling through his fingers as he tried, in vain, to hold him together.
His vision blurred, dragging him back into that memory.
The mirror had shattered as his grandfather stumbled out from the other side.
"Grandpa!" Noah ran to him, but there wasn't much left to hold. His grandfather was horribly injured—an arm missing, half his stomach torn apart, his legs shredded to the point where bone showed through. It was a miracle he was even alive.
Noah fell to his side, cradling the old man's head in his lap. Tears poured freely.
"Don't cry," whispered the old man, his voice frail and hoarse. "I've been dead… inside… for a long time now."
"Grandpa, why? Why didn't you escape?" Noah's voice cracked under the weight of grief.
"Because I already ran once," his grandfather answered, pausing for breath. "I ran from what I should've done. I didn't protect my family." He raised a trembling hand and touched Noah's face. "This time, I couldn't run again."
Noah had no words. Nothing he could say would ease the pain. Nothing he could do would change what was happening. "What can I do, Grandpa? Tell me what I can do."
"The ritual is almost ready," his grandfather whispered, his voice fading. "Follow the clue we found and leave this world." His hand stroked Noah's cheek, soft and comforting. "The life I lived, the choices I made, the mistakes I carried… I'll take them all with me today."
His eyes, once full of life, slowly lost their light. "The future is bright, Noah. A new world calls to you. Adventure awaits—and an adventure cannot be done alone. Make friends. Love, hate, live, and be happy. I want you to be free. Live proudly, as a mage should. That is my wish. Promise me."
Noah shut his eyes, fighting the tears. His body trembled, his throat barely letting words escape, but at last he said: "I promise, Grandpa."
He felt the touch on his cheek grow warm, as though something was being passed into him. But before he could understand, his grandfather's hand slipped, lifeless, falling to the ground.
There was no response. When Noah opened his eyes, he saw the old man's serene face—his eyes lifeless, but with a faint, peaceful smile.
The mind was a complicated place. Feelings everywhere. Memories you wished to forget, others you'd treasure forever. Smiles and tears that no longer existed. Accepting it all was exhausting.
But Noah had made a promise. He had sworn to move forward, and that gave him the strength to keep trying. Now, drenched in blood just like that night, he finally understood. To live—truly live—it wasn't about forgetting or pretending nothing had happened. He shouldn't run from pain or sorrow. All of it was necessary to shape who he was and who he wished to become.
Now he understood. He had to say goodbye, but without wishing to forget. He had to accept his weakness, his tears, his pain. The blood on his hands wasn't only a symbol of death—it was also life, struggle, survival.
The alley painted red with his grandfather's blood. The metallic scent in his nose. His body covered in blood as he tried to hold onto the pieces left of the old man. All of it represented his weakness—but also his strength. The strength to keep going.
He had always tried to leave it behind, but now he knew he couldn't. He had to accept it. Accept the pain, the anger, the anguish. Accept the smell of blood, the tears, the haunting memories.
Noah fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Tears streamed endlessly. "I promise, Grandpa. I promise."
For a moment, he felt himself back in that room, crying over his grandfather's body. But this time, there was no hatred in his heart. Only acceptance. And then, he felt it—a soft touch against his cheek, so real it made him shiver.
"Grandpa?" he whispered, unsure if it was real or just another memory.
Noah opened his eyes and realized he was no longer in Paris. Or at least, it didn't seem so. The place was different, yet he recognized it instantly.
"Our secret room…" he murmured, staring around in disbelief.
"Well, none of this is real now," came a calm, familiar voice he could never forget. Turning sharply, Noah saw his grandfather standing before him.
"Grandpa!" He rushed forward, hugging him tightly, sobbing like a child. Tears poured down as he clung to the old man, terrified he would vanish again.
"Come now, your eyes will go red from crying. We don't want them red, do we?" his grandfather teased lightly.
Noah swallowed his sobs, wiping his face on his sleeve. He looked at his grandfather, wanting to ask—but already knowing the answer. And that frightened him.
"You're not alive, are you?" he asked, fists clenched.
The old man chuckled, ruffling his hair. "You know I'm not."
"Then… how?" Noah's voice trembled. Why was he here? And more importantly, how was he here?
His grandfather walked around the room, running his fingers along the shelves. "Like I said, none of this is real. We're in your head." He glanced around, admiring the place. "As for why you chose it, I'd say there must be a thousand reasons."
"I chose it?" Noah frowned. He didn't remember doing so.
His grandfather laughed. "Well, your subconscious did. Why don't we go somewhere else? I'd love to see where you live now."
"And how do I do that?"
"This is your mind, Noah. You're the master of this realm. You can do whatever you want."
Noah nodded and thought of his house—his room, the library, the garden… The world blurred, shifting as walls, doors, plants, and books flew about until everything settled. And there they stood, in the middle of the Gray mansion.
"Aren't you going to give me a tour?" his grandfather chuckled.
Grinning ear to ear, Noah ran ahead. "Come on! I'll show you my room. It's where I made my first sock float!"
Noah showed his grandfather every corner of the mansion—the bedroom, the library, the garden where the statue moved.
"Your mother's quite beautiful," his grandfather remarked at a portrait.
"Hey," Noah protested, pretending to be offended.
They stared at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter. But soon, sadness crept into Noah's chest.
"You're not staying forever, are you?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Like this? No," his grandfather said softly. "But remember what I told you? I'll always be in your heart, so long as you don't forget me."
"How long do we have?" Noah bit his lip.
"It's coming to an end," his grandfather shook his head. "But before I go, I need to tell you why I'm here." He opened his hand, revealing a rune Noah had never seen before. It was one of the most complex he had ever laid eyes on—layers upon layers of symbols so intricate he doubted he could replicate them, even while staring straight at it.
"This is…?"
"One of my greatest creations," his grandfather said proudly. "Though I never thought I'd actually use it. But well, no one creates something without at least imagining a day when it might be used."
"What do you think it does?" he asked, watching Noah carefully.
The young man thought for a moment. "It's an anchor? Is that what keeps you here?"
"Correct, on both counts." His grandfather smiled. "I'm proud of you, you know that? Though, even after all these years, you still haven't drawn a single rune yourself… You're not abandoning what this old man taught you, are you?" His smile wavered between fondness and regret.
Noah lowered his gaze, ashamed. "I can't. Every time I think of runes, I remember you."
"And is that such a bad thing?" the old man chuckled. "Better than forgetting me entirely. Just because you've got a beautiful mother doesn't mean you should forget your grandpa."
Noah smiled faintly. "I promise I'll create the runes you taught me." But to his surprise, his grandfather shook his head.
"Don't waste your time with that junk," he said, laughing at Noah's shocked expression. "What? Those tricks are nothing for you anymore."
"But it's all I know. And you're the one who created that 'junk,'" Noah retorted.
"Runes are as old as magic itself," his grandfather explained. "I may have scribbled those symbols, but there's something greater out there. I know it. The runes we know are only the beginning."
He paused, smiling wistfully. "At one point, I dreamed of chasing that power. But after I met you, my dreams changed. I just wanted you to be happy."
Noah was already crying. He could see his grandfather fading as he spoke.
"My time is running out… funny, isn't it? This rune is the most powerful thing I ever created, and yet it only buys me a few minutes."
"There must be something I can do! Maybe I can make the anchor permanent—"
"I wouldn't want that," his grandfather interrupted gently. "I don't fear death anymore—perhaps because I've already died." He smiled faintly. "My last regret was not knowing if you were safe, if you had made it. Now that I've seen you, I can finally rest."
His voice softened. "I'll find my son in the afterlife… and apologize."
Noah struggled to hold back the tears.
His grandfather stepped closer and embraced him. "Don't cry. Be strong. We're mages. We do what we will, take what we desire, and mold reality to our command."
"Be happy."
"Grandpa…"
The mansion around them began to crumble, fading into unreality. His grandfather's figure dissolved into light and merged with Noah's mind.
…
"I promise, Grandpa."
When Noah awoke, he was back in Paris—or at least, it seemed so. "It's like no time passed while I was there," he murmured, noticing it was still early morning.
Now, he remembered the events of last night clearly. "I still don't fully know what my right eye can do when pushed to the limit. For now, I can trace the flow of magic across the world." He touched his left eye. "But this one… it was like an ocean of knowledge pouring into me. As if I became someone else entirely…"
He sighed, his eye still aching. "No point worrying about that now. Something tells me I won't be able to use it again anytime soon."
Rising to his feet, he glanced at the bloodstains on his clothes. He couldn't return to the Flamel residence like this. But that wasn't a problem. In the next moment, a flame ignited, spreading across every stain. When it vanished, he was spotless.
"How I love magic," he smiled.
Turning, he took his first step toward what he assumed was the main street. After some time, he found his way back.
As he walked, he couldn't help but think how much easier it would be to simply call Grynni to fetch him. Just one word, and the elf would appear. But he knew if he did that, his parents would find out and worry. Even if he asked her to keep it a secret, her loyalty was to the entire Gray family, and the one at the top of that hierarchy had always been his grandfather.
Walking wasn't so bad, though. The feeling he had now was wonderful. Even after such a painful farewell, he wasn't shaken. In fact, he felt freer than ever.
His mind was like a still lake—and unless someone threw a stone with all their strength, it would not be disturbed.
As he walked, he began to plan.
After I finish the first levels of the mind arts, I need to create a few spells… especially for my eyes.
For his right eye, a skill that allowed him to use only part of its power would be invaluable. Luckily, in his past life, he had spent his entire existence using only a fraction of that power. That gave him an advantage in understanding what "holding back" felt like.
To be useful, it couldn't be limited to a few seconds. Nor could it be so weak that all he saw were ordinary magical traces.
As for his left eye…
I don't understand it. But it's still me, isn't it?
So, even though the thought of blocking it off had crossed his mind, he couldn't do that yet. If it worked like the right eye, it would also have different levels of ability depending on how intensely it was used.
If he could learn to harness a portion of that power, it might become useful someday.
I just have to keep the monster in the dark.
When he finally returned home, he found Nick and Penny waiting, worried. He braced himself for scolding—but to his surprise, none came.
When they saw him, they understood. There was no need for words. Whatever had been tormenting Noah was over.
They loved him enough to be grateful that he was safe—that his magic was no longer spilling into the world.
In the end, Noah was like the son they had never had.