In the kitchen where cinnamon lingered thick in the air was Hermit and Ciro, concocting a dessert no man alive could reasonably refuse.
From the clay oven, Hermit withdrew a steaming pie, its golden crust crackling softly as he set it upon the table. Ciro had to stop himself from drooling, the scent alone nearly overwhelming his senses.
"Ciro," Hermit began solemnly, slicing the pie into eight perfectly equal pieces, "there are two things a man must experience in this world."
Ciro tensed immediately.
"First," Hermit continued, "is the tender warmth of the woman he loves."
Ciro's face twisted into an awkward frown, his enthusiasm evaporating at once.
"And second!" Hermit declared, suddenly brightening. "Apple pies!"
"Apple... pies..."
In that instant, Ciro abandoned all restraint.
Hermit barely had time to gasp before the boy lunged forward, engulfing all eight slices in a single, horrifying bite. Crust, filling, and steam vanished at once.
Hermit's hands reached out far too late.
"No—! You greedy child!" he cried, collapsing to his knees in defeat. "We were meant to share that in equity!"
"It's your fault for being slow," Ciro shot back, crumbs clinging to his lips as an almost mischievous grin spread across his face.
"Heh."
Hermit stared at him in disbelief.
"I do not believe anyone could react fast enough to someone who could devour a pie meant for five in one bite…"
Regardless, Hermit could not help but let out a hearty laugh. It had been ages since anyone had lived under his roof. He did not mind the company, even if said company ate enough for five.
"Weird old man," Ciro muttered, though softly.
Hermit was certainly eccentric in his eyes, but Ciro found that he did not mind it much at all.
"In any case," Hermit asked, seated across the table, "who taught you Lucias?"
Ciro wiped the remaining crumbs from his face, pausing briefly. He figured the old man meant the light he had summoned earlier.
"Nobody," Ciro replied plainly. "It's just something I remembered from my village..."
Hermit's brow lifted slightly.
"Then," he pressed, extending his arm, "do you know of any other spells?"
A small, weak flame flickered to life in Hermit's palm. Ciro flinched despite himself.
"Is that what they're called?" he asked, eyes fixed on the fire.
Hermit smiled, stroking his beard.
"Magic," he began, "is built upon what we call spells."
The flame vanished.
"Spells are the reactions of mana," Hermit continued, and as he spoke, droplets of water began to gather in his open hand, "modified in particular ways, ultimately producing an effect of some kind upon reality."
The water dispersed just as easily as it had formed.
"Does that sate your curiosity, boy?" Hermit asked, his smile never fading.
Ciro remained silent, attempting to piece together the old man's rambling explanation.
"Then," he said, rising from his seat.
With his palm turned upward, he cast, "Lucias".
The same lonesome sphere of light formed at the palm of his hand.
Ciro frowned.
"Why is there only one?" he complained, dissatisfied. He had expected a swarm like the one he remembered.
Hermit turned away, already heading for the door.
"Let us take this elsewhere," he said.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Not too far from their home lay an open stretch of land, claimed by no nobility, sparse in grass and trees, yet rich in soil. It was fertile, quiet, and isolated, rather ideal for something as convenient, and as destructive, as magic.
"Spells are cast through formulas," Hermit began at once, a sphere of light blooming calmly in his palm. "These so-called formulas are foundational patterns—specific ways mana is shaped and released."
Ciro watched.
"The true key, however, is Intent," Hermit continued. "It is the union of will, the resolve to accomplish—imagination, the boundaries of your mind—and belief, in no one but yourself and your magic."
"Then why?" Ciro pressed. "I envisioned many, but only one came out."
The light in Hermit's palm swelled brighter and brighter. His gaze drifted toward a dead tree nearby, blackened and hollow, long stripped of life.
"Lucis."
The light left his hand faster than Ciro could follow.
BOOM!!!
The tree ceased to exist.
Rotting bark and splinters erupted outward as the explosive force reduced it to drifting ash. The shockwave slammed into Ciro before he could even blink, sending him tumbling onto his back.
For a moment, there was only ringing silence.
"Lucias is a simple spell that makes light itself yours. As it is in the nature of them, spells' effects are entirely dependent upon the mage who casts them," Hermit explained softly.
"You asked why your spell made only one," he said, smiling. "But you didn't expect such a simple spell to be so powerful, did you? The answer lies in experience and mana."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"I was alive when kingdoms were still villages. Skill comes with time, boy."
"Amazing," the word slipped from Ciro's mouth before he could stop himself.
Hermit chuckled, stepping beside the boy as he stared at the empty space where the tree once stood.
"How about giving it a try?" he mused.
Ciro frowned.
"How exactly am I supposed to do that, old man?"
"Just give it your all!"
Ciro stared blankly at the old man, his expression cock-eyed and entirely sincere, offered no further explanation.
"…Then if I do it," Ciro said slowly, confidence creeping into his voice, "you owe me a reward."
Hermit raised a brow.
"Oh?"
"An apple pie."
Hermit smiled.
"Show me, then."
Ciro said nothing more. He replayed the moment Hermit cast Lucias again and again in his mind.
I haven't taught him the spell's proper formula, Hermit noted.
Up until now, what he has been attempting to replicate was comparable to not even an eighth of the spell's potential.
It is unlikely that he would understand it from memory alone.
Still, the boy stood there, eyes closed, so deeply focused he looked almost meditative.
However, if he was able to partially replicate Lucias through recollection alone, Hermit thought,
then perhaps—
The afternoon breeze filled the silence in the air as what felt like an eternity of it remained.
Ciro opened his eyes, thrust his arm forward, and shouted,
"Lucias!"
Nothing happened.
Hermit stroked his beard. "Hmm. Well, even I struggled my first—"
BLAM!!!
A blast erupted from Ciro's hand.
The force hurled him backward as the ray of light roared uncontrollably. Hermit reacted instantly, snapping his fingers as the light vanished, as if snuffed from existence.
Ciro hit the ground screaming.
"AAAGH—!"
Hermit was already beside him, a faint green glow enveloping the unburned portions of the boy's arm. The pain dulled, though a deep, aching throb remained.
The pain in Ciro's hand quickly subsided, yet there remained an undeniable throb.
I was careless, Hermit cursed inwardly.
I never anticipated he could actually replicate the spell.
That Lucias had been crude, but the mana behind it—
Comparable to an adult's…
Hermit clenched his jaw.
How did I fail to sense it all this time?
He shook his head sharply.
No. How could I think so selfishly now? This is my fault. I allowed it.
I fail as a guardian.
A small tug pulled at his robe.
Despite the pain, Ciro was smiling.
"You owe me an apple pie," he said, firmly.
Hermit froze… then laughed softly, forcing a smile of his own.
"I'll make one faster than you can complain," he said.
Ciro smiled back—
—and promptly lost consciousness.
He exhausted his mana from the brim, Hermit observed calmly, lifting the boy into his arms as he continued healing the burn.
His gaze hardened.
This boy… I must protect him.