****Ghost POV****
The boy has lost everything. His family. His name. Even his maid.
And despite it all, he does not cry. He does not stare up at the sky, and ask why this happened to him, cursing the gods for his fate.
That never ends well.
In fact, he doesn't even look sad.
He sits on his bed, calm and silent, as if deep in thought.
Then he gets up.
He moves into the center of the room and sits cross-legged, assuming a common meditating pose.
The sunlight from the windows spills across his face, but he doesn't react.
Just closes his eyes, establishing a sense of calm in his body. He starts to meditate.
His magic stirs, then surges up, all at once.
This boy looks as if he's never trained a day in his life. He's unpolished, but the magic interests me. So potent.
It seems it will never end.
But I've seen many with magic like that. All of whom failed to control it, and perished at their own hand.
What truly fascinates me, is not the strength of his magic, or his level of control, but how he adapts, how quickly he changes.
At first, he seems like a toddler, barely used to the concept of magic.
But as the minutes stretch into hours, he starts to adapt. His control steadies, he calms his magic, letting it flow around his body, stabilizing it.
By the time night comes around, his control of magic has been improved significantly.
He has done something in a day that others struggle to do in their entire lives.
He then tries something.
He extends his magic upward, trying to sense me. His control is good, but I remain hidden just out of reach, watching.
Next to me, the boy is nothing. A small fish, in an endless sea.
And yet, his progress. It's remarkable.
The boy is special.
He may be the one I've been looking for. The king who I could swear myself to, freeing me from this horrible place.
But, I will not act yet. I've been deceived too many times before. Too many people so eager to gain unfathomable power. Too many people who took it all, then perished, consumed by the power they desired.
I will not place my faith in another greedy heart.
Call me selfish, but I do want to leave here, so I must give him a chance.
Even without magic, his eyes pierced through the darkness I cast over this place.
He is strong, and has raw untamed talent. Possibly the greatest I have ever seen.
When I first saw him, I lowered my guard, expecting just a child.
But then he saw me.
An impossible feat.
I have lived for eons, since this world was created, honing my magic to its limit.
Empires tremble at my name. My presence alone can summon storms strong enough to level nations. I could not be killed. That's why they trapped me here, reduced me to this ghastly form. They couldn't even control my magic. Once I break free, it will come to me again. In its truest form.
Yet he saw me.
And he looked at me, his gaze curious, not afraid. Fascinated, even.
He looked into my eyes, with an unwavering stare. Not many have lived after staring into these eyes for that long. The depth consumes then.
But not him. His stare is curious, not greedy, and delves deeper, and deeper, searching for the end of the bottomless ocean.
I looked back and found myself falling into his eyes, dark as the void, endless as the abyss.
The deeper I searched, the more I felt something. It was alive, staring back at me.
The abyss itself.
Then I noticed, the abyss was piercing into the bottomless ocean, the boy was nearing the bottom.
I recoiled, startled, and afraid.
What is this boy, to look back into me? To stare deep enough to nearly find the end, and to not be consumed completely?
He may not realize it yet, but he will make worlds fall. He will conquer, rule, and surpass all preconceived limits.
Curious, I whisper. So very curious.
Then a noise snaps me out of my thoughts.
He practices combat, attempting to fight a nonexistent person.
I nearly laugh. His form is dreadful.
But then, something changes.
He channels magic through his body, using it as a conduit.
His technique is still horrible, but his power surges.
Each of his strikes break the air in front of him, causing a loud crack.
Most people don't even have enough magic to create physical reinforcement, and yet he does, controlling it to near perfection.
He is a prodigy.
And that frightens me.
This becomes a routine.
Every day, without fail.
He eats, sleeps, and trains.
His mastery over basic magic grows at an astonishing rate.
Sometimes he leaves the tower, only to return drenched in sweat. Then he trains more.
Like clockwork.
His technique remains abysmal, but his power does not.
By now, his at least strength rivals that of a menace-class monster (A/N - menace class = common attribute). It's an incredible feat for someone who has yet to even manifest a tattoo.
Most people will never reach that level of ability in their entire lives.
Compared to what he'll face in the future, his power is still minuscule.
But for a young child… It's extraordinary.
I decide to test him. To see how he reacts.
While he meditates, I weave a small stand of water mana and send it toward him, barely enough to be noticed.
What he does next terrifies me.
Instead of breaking his focus to not let it consume his mana stream, he absorbs it.
My magic.
He draws it in, bends it to his will, then merges it with his own.
My magic isn't something that yields easily. It has a will, a rhythm, a life.
It took me years to master it, to bend it to my control.
Yet this boy takes the same magic, even if only a small portion of it, and makes it his.
I nearly gasp.
Then he goes further. He uses it, forming the energy into a sword of ice, appearing in his hand. He forms it into a short sword, and while it is made of ice, it will not break easily. His mana extends into the sword, reinforcing it.
He nods to the space where I hover. He cannot see me, and yet, somehow, he knows.
This boy must be preserved.
He must not be corrupted.
Because if he is… he'll be the end of us all.
But if he isn't? If he stays true to himself, and doesn't falter. He will reshape worlds.
And I will follow him.
There is nothing more I wish than to descend from my perch, to guide him, and to help him grow stronger, to prepare him for what lies ahead.
But I don't.
I will not take empty chances, and if corruption consumes him,
then I will end him myself.
Then to my surprise, the boy laughs.
"This is fucking sick," he says aloud. "Thanks, lady!"
...I'm sorry. What?
He thanks me.
No fear. No caution. Just gratitude and excitement.
That spell could have killed him. One mistake, and the magic would have torn him apart from the inside.
And he thanks me!?
I've lived centuries, and never have I met someone who thanked their would-be killer.
He's treating this life‑threatening power like it's a toy.
I can't decide if I should be terrified or impressed.
If nothing else, it intrigues me more.
He swings his newly formed ice sword in a wide arc.
A crescent of energy tears through the air, slamming into the wall, leaving behind a gaping hole.
Instead of worrying about the destruction, he just stares at the blade in awe.
"That's so cool," he says, eyes glossed with hunger.
I can't believe this kid.
He's tossing around deadly power without a care in the world.
And yet… I can't help but laugh.
It's the first time I've laughed in over a thousand years.
My throat spasms, and what comes out barely qualifies as laughter. A sound that sounds more like a groan than anything else escapes my mouth.
"That's creepy, lady," the boy calls up.
The audacity.
"Can you fix this?" he adds, pointing to the gaping hole.
I sigh and flick my hand lazily. A wall of ice slides into place, sealing the damage.
"Thanks, lady," he says again, grinning.
It's been a thousand years, and no one's ever thanked me twice in the same day.
The feeling is warm. My senses have been numbed over the past thousand years. Killing followed by killing. Then finally being trapped. But these two words of compassion, somehow, start melting the ice that I have encased my heart in.
I've served countless rulers, conquered countless nations, and there has only been two people who ever thanked me:
my first master, and this strange boy.
Somehow, I can see a connection between them.
The same carefree attitude.
The same habit of playing with power they barely understand, but controlling it, making it their own.
My first master was no hero. The world hated him, but he stayed true to his beliefs. He searched for power to protect those beliefs.
He was killed for that.
After his death, I served many others, all of whom lusted only for power, the very thing that eventually consumed them.
Eventually, I stopped caring. I let myself be bound here in this tower, ready to fade into eternity.
But this boy… he may give me a purpose. A reason to start living again.
But. if he isn't what I believe him to be,
if he disappoints be like the rest
I will end him. And I will bury his name along with the others.
In fact, I almost want to doubt him. I want him to fight for my faith, to thaw every shard of ice around my heart.
So prove me wrong, boy. Become who I think you cannot.
Do that,
and I will make you king of eternity.