Constara remained orderly. But that morning, something was misaligned. Eryon noticed before any official announcement was made. It wasn't magic. It wasn't supernatural instinct. It was the silence between sentences.
He was helping unload sacks of flour when he realized no one was arguing over prices. No one was complaining about taxes. No one was commenting on the weather. They were speaking too quietly.
"They still haven't come back?"
"No."
"How many?"
"Three."
The weight of the sack on his shoulders seemed to increase. He didn't turn his head. He kept walking, placing it where it belonged.
First Circle students. The practical lesson was that week. Seren had mentioned it. He remembered.
"We're going to practice perception in a natural environment."
She had said it with a subtle light in her eyes.
Now the voices continued.
"It was just an activity to visualize flow."
"They were already in the First Circle, they're not ordinary children."
"They're still children."
"It was only at the forest's edge."
His heart beat once, too hard.
The forest's edge.
He set the sack down carefully. Not abruptly. Not drawing attention. He kept working. But he was listening to everything.
"Who are they?"
"A boy from the east wing."
"And?"
"Two girls."
The world felt smaller.
He waited.
"One of them is Seren Aster."
The air seemed to thin. There was no shout. No despair. Something worse. Internal silence.
He finished aligning the last stack before turning.
"They're still searching?"
The merchant looked at him with some hesitation.
"Yes."
"Teachers?"
"Some guards too."
"When did it happen?"
"A little over an hour ago."
An hour. In the forest, that was a long time.
Another man muttered nearby.
"This generation thinks they're adults just because they can feel mana."
"Professor Halver shouldn't have taken them that deep."
"If it were my son, I'd never allow it."
Someone else replied, too low.
"If it were a merchant's son, no one would be commenting."
"And her brother?"
Short laughter.
"He's lucky he doesn't study there."
"If he did, he would've gotten lost too."
Eryon didn't react.
But his body had already decided.
He walked to the side of the market. He didn't run yet. He took a deep breath. Organized his thoughts.
If Seren was in the forest…
She wouldn't have panicked.
She would investigate.
She would follow the flow.
And if something was wrong with the flow…
She would go toward the center.
He turned into the narrow street that led to the less-patrolled side of the city.
Then he began to run.
The forest's edge wasn't dangerous. It was familiar. He and Seren had trained there for years.
But that day, the air felt different.
Not heavy.
Misaligned.
As if the wind didn't know where to go.
Eryon crossed the first trees without hesitation. He didn't feel mana the way she did. But he knew the terrain. He knew where roots surfaced. Where the ground dipped. Where branches snapped under the wrong weight.
He only slowed when the city disappeared behind him.
Silence.
No birds. No insects.
That wasn't normal.
He crouched.
Footprints.
Three lighter sets. Hesitant steps.
And another trail. Deeper. Dragged.
He frowned. Not human.
He touched the ground. Closed his eyes. Tried to remember the sensation from the previous night. The brief flow. The subtle warmth.
Nothing.
But the discomfort was there.
He followed the tracks. Deeper.
—
On the other side of the forest, teachers were organizing search efforts.
"They should have stopped when they felt the instability."
"They were excited."
"The exercise was simple. Identify slight variation."
"This isn't slight."
A guard knelt near a broken trunk.
"This wasn't done by a student."
Halver ran a hand over his sweaty forehead.
"There were no records of creatures above Grade 1 in this area."
"Records aren't absolute."
The professor fell silent. He knew. But knowing didn't lessen the mistake.
—
Eryon smelled it first.
Disturbed earth.
Then he heard it.
Not a scream.
A muffled sound. Like someone trying not to make noise.
He ran. Branches scratched his arms. He didn't slow.
The clearing he found wasn't the one they usually used. Smaller. More enclosed.
And there they were.
A boy unconscious.
Another girl pressed against a tree, trembling.
And Seren.
Standing.
Breathing unevenly. Eyes fixed ahead.
In front of her, the creature.
Larger than the one from the previous night. Elongated body. Dark hide. Attentive yellow eyes.
Not massive.
But not weak.
Seren was in the First Circle. She could cast simple projections. But this required control.
The creature stepped forward.
Seren raised her hand. A small discharge of mana shot forward. It struck the beast's shoulder.
It only irritated it.
She was tired.
Eryon felt his heartbeat in his throat.
He didn't think.
He stepped into the clearing.
The creature turned its head. Changed targets. Advanced.
He had no spells. No projection.
But he had a solid physical foundation.
Quick movements. Firm decisions.
He barely dodged. Felt claws tear through his shirt. He turned his body. Direct strike to the ribs.
The creature stepped back once.
It was strong.
It advanced again.
Eryon stepped back twice, positioning himself between it and Seren.
"Get them out of here."
"Eryon, no."
"Go!"
The creature leaped.
This time, he dove into the attack.
Forearm guiding the paw off-line, shoulder colliding against the creature's chest. He rotated his hips and pulled its front limb using the force of its own leap.
The heavy body passed its axis.
It landed poorly.
Eryon didn't waste the opening.
He grabbed a thick branch he had already noticed on the ground.
No hesitation.
He drove it into the fold behind the creature's rear knee as it tried to rise.
The sound wasn't loud.
The reaction was.
A roar—not of fury, but pain.
The leg gave partially.
The creature advanced anyway, dragging the injured limb. Pure aggression.
He stepped diagonally back, grabbed a stone—larger this time.
He threw it—not at the head, but at the front shoulder joint.
The impact didn't break bone.
But it disrupted rhythm.
It attacked with the other paw.
Eryon yielded space, grabbed the limb coming with full force and turned with it, pulling in the direction of the beast's own advance.
The creature's body moved beyond its balance.
He released at the exact moment.
It stumbled over its own injured leg.
The ground took its weight.
Eryon didn't waste time.
This time the branch wasn't aimed at the leg.
It went to the side of the neck.
Not deep enough to kill.
But deep enough to disorient.
The beast thrashed violently.
A claw carved three burning lines across his back.
He ignored it.
When it tried to rise with its good leg, he stepped on the injured joint.
Forced his weight down.
He heard the crack.
The creature lost support entirely.
Eryon grabbed its head, pulled it forward while rotating his own body sideways, exposing the lower part of its chest.
There.
Between the ribs.
He used the final impulse of its charge.
When the beast attempted one last lunge, he took advantage.
He drove the branch deep, using the creature's own weight pushing against it.
This time the sound was different.
The roar died halfway.
The body still tried to react.
But the strength it trusted so much had been used against it.
Eryon only released when he was sure there was no movement left.
He was breathing heavily.
Blood ran down his arm and back.
No fatal wounds.
But enough to remind him he was still human.
No mana.
No spells.
Only technique.
And determination.
Seren stared at him.
There was a feeling in her chest she recognized.
Only stronger.
The unconscious boy began to groan.
The other girl cried softly.
"Let's go back."
Seren nodded.
They left the forest carefully.
They met the search group.
Halver looked at Seren.
"Did you follow the flow?"
She nodded.
"It was unstable."
The professor closed his eyes for a second.
It was a mistake.
His mistake.
Eryon was injured. His arm bleeding. But he didn't seem to feel it.
He only looked at Seren.
She was alive.
That was enough.
When they began leading the children back, Seren walked beside him.
In silence.
After a few steps, she spoke.
Softly.
"You came."
He looked at her as if the question were strange.
"Of course."
"And what if it had been deeper?"
"I would've gone."
"And what if it was dangerous?"
He didn't hesitate.
"No matter how difficult it is, I'll always go."
She stopped walking.
He took two more steps before realizing.
Then he turned.
Her eyes were wet.
But she wasn't crying.
"Why?"
He didn't have a beautiful speech. No grand theory. Just sincerity.
"Because I don't want to lose you."
The wind moved through the trees. Different from before. Lighter. She looked away. But a small smile appeared. And there, without either of them realizing it, something far greater than mana began to take shape.
The movement in the forest took almost an hour to fully disperse. The teachers led the students back. Guards checked the surroundings. The creature was removed. In the end, only scattered leaves, marks in the soil, and the faint scent of blood slowly fading remained.
Seren insisted that Eryon let the guards treat his wounded arm. He insisted it was nothing.
"You're terrible at lying."
"I'm not lying."
"You're bleeding."
"It's not much."
"Stubborn."
She sighed, taking a clean piece of cloth from her bag and pressing it against the cut. The gesture wasn't overly gentle. Nor distant. It was firm. Like her.
They stood a few steps away from the main trail. The adults' voices no longer reached them. Silence again. But different from before. Now it was heavy with meaning.
"You could have died."
She said it while looking at his arm, not his face.
"You too."
"It was under control."
He almost smiled.
"I know."
She lifted her gaze.
"You don't."
He met her eyes.
"I do."
Because he trusted her. Not just her strength. Her resolve. Eryon had always known Seren wasn't fragile. She was simply still growing.
She finished tying the makeshift bandage around his arm and held the fabric for a few seconds, as if checking whether it was secure. Then she spoke, more quietly.
"When the creature appeared… I felt the flow distort."
He focused immediately.
"Distort?"
"Yes. It wasn't just presence. It was like the air was… out of place."
He had felt the same thing the night before. But he hadn't known how to put it into words.
"I felt something too."
She looked at him with genuine surprise.
"You did?"
"Not like you. It was more… discomfort."
She fell silent for a moment. Then something in her gaze changed. It wasn't superiority. It was recognition.
"Maybe you're starting."
He didn't answer. He didn't want to make it into something bigger than it was. But inside him, a quiet flame began to take shape.
A few meters away, at a higher point between two ancient trees, two men watched. They sat on a thick branch as if it were a simple balcony. One held a nearly empty glass bottle. The other kept his arms crossed.
Both appeared to be in their early thirties. No signs of age. No trace of weakness.
The quieter man let out a sigh.
"Youth."
The other took a drink and didn't take his eyes off the clearing.
"Imprudence."
"Romanticism."
"Naivety."
The first let out a low chuckle.
"You still hate it."
"I don't hate it."
"You don't believe in it."
A brief silence.
The first tilted his head slightly.
"He went in without hesitation."
"He did."
"No projected mana."
"No refined technique."
"No guarantee."
The warrior took another drink.
"You would've done the same."
"Not for someone I've known for twelve years."
The mage finally looked at his friend.
"You would."
The warrior didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed on the boy.
"That last strike looked like your mana usage."
The warrior narrowed his eyes.
"You felt it?"
"For an instant."
"An accident."
"Maybe."
Silence again.
Below, Seren was still holding Eryon's arm.
The warrior made an almost imperceptible sound.
"They speak as if love were absolute."
The mage replied without visible emotion.
"You speak as if it isn't."
"It isn't."
"You never stopped loving."
The warrior clenched his jaw.
"That proves nothing."
The mage looked at him again.
"It proves you never gave up."
The wind passed between the trees. The warrior looked away.
"He'll break."
"Maybe."
"Everyone breaks."
The mage watched Eryon once more before speaking.
"Not everyone."
Days later.
The city had already returned to its normal rhythm. The incident was treated as a supervision error. Nothing more. But Seren was different. Quieter. More attentive. Eryon noticed.
They returned to their usual clearing at the end of the afternoon, as always. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden strands. She was sitting on the fallen trunk when he arrived. No book. No stick. Just staring at the ground.
"You're strange."
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous."
She made a faint face.
"Idiot."
He sat beside her. The silence between them was comfortable. But it carried something new.
"Would you really have gone deeper?"
She asked without looking at him.
"I would."
"Even without knowing what you'd find?"
"Yes."
"Even if it was something far beyond your level?"
He took a deep breath.
"If you were there, yes."
She finally looked at him. There was no irony. No teasing. Just seriousness.
"Why?"
He took a little longer this time. But he answered.
"Because you're everything I have."
The words hung in the air. She looked away quickly. But she didn't deny it. Didn't correct him. Instead, she reached into the inner pocket of her outfit and took something small out. A simple cord.
With a polished pendant—a small crystal shaped like a star. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't professionally made. But it had been carved by her own hand.
"I made it."
She said it almost sulking.
"It's nothing special."
He took it carefully. His fingers brushed hers for an instant. Warmth. Simple. Real.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a star. Think of it as me."
She pointed at him.
"It's to light your way when I'm not there."
He smiled faintly.
"Don't get full of yourself."
He held the pendant firmly.
"I'll keep it forever."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Forever is a long time."
"I know."
He put the cord around his neck. The pendant rested against his chest.
"I'll always find you."
She went still. The wind moved through the trees. He continued.
"No matter where you are."
"No matter how far."
"I'll become strong enough."
"And I'll come to you."
The silence that followed wasn't childish. It was heavy. It was a promise. She reached out and held the pendant for a moment.
"Then don't die before that."
He let out a quiet laugh.
"I won't. Not while you exist."
Above them, the two men were watching again. The warrior let out a nasal sound.
"Ridiculous."
The mage didn't reply. But he tightened something around his wrist.
"'Forever.'"
The warrior shook his head.
"The world doesn't work that way."
The mage finally spoke.
"It didn't work that way for us."
The warrior fell silent.
Below, Eryon closed his eyes, trying to feel the flow the way Seren instructed him to. Without pushing. Without forcing. Just following.
The mage tilted his head slightly.
"He learns quickly."
"Coincidence."
"No."
"You're seeing what you want to see."
The mage stood from the branch with ease.
"Maybe."
"You're not going to."
The warrior already knew.
"I'll observe a little longer."
"You'll get involved."
"Maybe."
"And if he breaks?"
The mage looked at the boy who was breathing with absurd concentration for someone only twelve years old.
"Then we'll pull him back."
The warrior remained silent for a long moment.
"You still believe."
The mage replied without looking at him.
"I never stopped believing."
The wind blew stronger. The leaves in the clearing swirled lightly. And for a second, Eryon felt it again. Not the ordinary flow. But something steadier. Deeper.
He opened his eyes. He saw no one. But for the first time, he had the clear impression that he was being watched. Not with threat. With interest.
The mage cast one last glance before disappearing between the trees.
"Let's stay close."
The warrior sighed.
"This always ends badly."
"Not always."
"For us, it did."
The mage answered, almost inaudible.
"For us, it's not over yet."
And on that golden afternoon in the forest of Constara, three promises were born.
One of love. One of persistence. And one silent vow, made by a man who had loved only once—and had decided never to love again.