Splash!
Aslan felt the cold waters of the lake seep through his entire body. The burning sensation from passing through the wall of flames subsided, and he finally let out a sigh of relief. From outside, he could hear the clashing of swords—Kraush was buying time, facing off against Adolf. He couldn’t understand why Kraush would go to such lengths. Kraush had previously revealed that he possessed the skill to steal the Lunar Body on his own. Though it was imperceptible now, if Kraush had indeed stolen the Lunar Body just moments ago, his goal would have been achieved. Yet, despite being able to escape, Kraush was still confronting Adolf directly. Aslan knew that Adolf, not wishing to incite strife with the Balheim lineage, wouldn’t harm him significantly.
From Kraush’s perspective, there was no need to take the risk of directly confronting Adolf.
‘Could it be because of Lirina?’
The interactions he had witnessed between Lirina and Kraush suggested a certain closeness. He recalled the first time he had met him through Lirina, and it was possible there was something between them.
‘That can be pondered later.’
Why Kraush was helping him to this extent remained a mystery. One thing was certain, though: he was indebted to Kraush for a favor so great that it would require a lifetime to repay. His immediate task was not to squander the kindness shown to him, but to fulfill his purpose.
Aslan quickly retrieved the Spirit King’s egg and Dorothy’s crystal from his embrace. Then, submerged in the water, he began to slowly press Dorothy’s crystal into the egg.
Woosh!
The moment the crystal was consumed, the Spirit King’s egg emitted a brilliant light. Aslan cradled the glowing egg gently.‘Dorothy.’
Despite being the Igrit family’s only direct descendent, Aslan had endured numerous humiliations due to his Lunar Body. He felt himself growing increasingly weary—his mother, Agatha, had become harsher with each passing day, and his grandfather, Adolf, had never once acknowledged him. No matter his efforts, without mastering the Igrit family’s flame magic, he could never be regarded as a true direct descendent.
Under the crushing pressure of the family, Aslan’s spirit rotted. He had reached a point of mental exhaustion. Even the most basic tasks in life felt meaningless.
“Mr. Aslan! What kind of attitude is that?”
His mother’s reprimand rang sharply in his ears. It was only natural, given the lack of progress in his magical studies. Yet even amidst her scolding, Aslan’s mind was simply numb. His mother’s once-feared face now seemed worthless to him—perhaps even pitiable. He knew all too well why the once-kind mother of his youth had changed so drastically.
“Mr. Aslan, how about a walk to clear your mind?”
Concerned, Lirina made the suggestion. Always doing her utmost for him as his personal maid, Aslan felt compelled to get up and move, despite his weariness.
Passing a place where the green trees caught his eye, Aslan noticed a figure—a girl with hair and eyes the light blue of clear ice. The girl, with a face as beautifully crafted as an ice sculpture, was seated in the bushes, engrossed in something.
Aslan involuntarily halted his steps. Not only did the girl catch his attention, but also the spectacle unfolding from her hands.
Naturally. The girl was casting a spell—a rather frivolous one, creating tiny ice sculptures.
Crack!
“Ah!”
In a moment, the sculpture the girl had been making crumbled due to a failed spell. Disappointment was plain on her face, and Aslan found himself unwittingly chuckling at the sight.
“Heh.”
“Huh?”
The sound of his laughter reached the girl. Aslan, embarrassed by his reaction to her failed magic, coughed awkwardly. It was rude to laugh at someone else’s magical mishap.
And perhaps realizing this, the girl’s expression turned slightly annoyed.
“Who are you to laugh at my magic?”
“Ah, well, um, that’s not what I meant.”
Feeling remorseful, Aslan approached her.
“Would you like some help with that?”
“Are you a magician?”
“Sort of.”
Although Aslan couldn’t use flame magic, he was skilled with other types. Thus, he demonstrated by crafting a small ice horse statue with the same ice sculpture spell the girl had attempted.
Her eyes widened in amazement.
“Wow, you’re really good at magic! I keep failing.”
“It’s nothing really.”
“Does that mean I’m really bad at it?”
She was quite self-critical.
“It looks similar to the magic I used. I wonder what went wrong.”
As the girl pondered over her own magic, it became apparent she had made several mistakes in the spell’s formulation. She seemed unable to sense what was amiss.
“…Shall I teach you?”
Embarrassed about having laughed at her earlier, Aslan offered his help, and her eyes sparkled in response.
“Really? Then could you teach me this and this, and also this?”
Seizing the opportunity, she quickly pulled out books from her bag. It turned out she was a first-year student at the Red Tower Academy—failing in magic despite attending the academy. But she was Dorothy: always enthusiastic about magic and brimming with ambition.
That was the beginning of their acquaintance. And somehow, from that day on, Aslan found himself meeting Dorothy every day. She would bring him food from a place she frequented in exchange for learning magic from him, a direct descendent of the Igrit family. The idea might seem preposterous, but Aslan didn’t mind it that much. He’d rather be doing something than nothing at all.
“Ah, so this part of the spell was wrong.”
“It’s not just that one part. These parts were wrong too.”
“Who made them wrong?”
“Well, Dorothy, it would be you.”
Dorothy was, indeed, quite the unique failing student. Most lacking talent would grow weary. Who would continue striving despite no progress? She was even ostracized at the academy for being a failing student. For a magician, the inability to manage magic meant worthlessness. But Dorothy loved magic—bringing new spells to discuss with Aslan and delighting in them.
Aslan thought to himself while observing her. There he was, neglected by the Igrit family for being unable to learn one type of magic, yet Dorothy, unable to use magic at all, truly loved it. This realization often left him lost in thought, questioning what he truly sought in magic.
Then came the day when Aslan fell ill with a fever. Recently, he’d been venturing out every morning, so it was no surprise his body succumbed to sickness. Lying there with closed eyes, he felt the heat coursing through his body.
It was torturous.
He longed for something cool, anything at all. And above all, the helplessness of lying there, doing nothing, was maddening. It was as if life was reminding him of its own futility.
‘Dorothy.’
Was she waiting for him?
Perhaps it had become part of his daily routine. With a rueful smile, Aslan thought of Dorothy. He had promised to teach her magic at this time every day, and failing to keep his promise, he wondered if he would be unable to meet her again.
‘So many negative thoughts.’
As Aslan pondered, his consciousness began to fade. Then he felt something exceedingly cold on his forehead.
Barely opening his eyes, he saw strands of nearly transparent blue hair. It was Dorothy. He wondered how she managed to enter his room, but there she was, using her magic to wrap ice in a handkerchief, trying to cool his fever.
“Do, Dorothy.”
“Ah, Aslan, does it feel cool?”
“It’s so, feels like my forehead might freeze over.”
Struggling to speak through the fever, Aslan managed a response, and Dorothy puffed up with pride.
“It’s the power of my magic. How about that? The magic I learned from Aslan is pretty good, isn’t it? My magic can be helpful to someone.”
As he watched her, Aslan chuckled despite himself.
“You’re still a long, way off.”
At Aslan’s teasing, Dorothy pouted. But soon, she propped her elbows on his bed, rested her chin on her hands, and grinned broadly.
“Then get well soon and teach me. I understand magic best when it’s Aslan teaching me.”
The ice spell on his forehead was cold, but for some reason, it felt the warmest to him. That day he realized—magic, depending on who wields it, can provide such warmth to others.
‘My magic…’
It was merely a tool for survival within the Igrit family. But that wasn’t the true nature of magic. Aslan felt as if he’d gained a new understanding, and a thought crossed his mind that he might come to enjoy magic again.
A few days later, when his fever had subsided, Aslan learned that it was Lirina who had brought Dorothy to him.
“Mr. Aslan, when a girlfriend stays by your side when you’re sick, you recover faster, you know?”
What a ridiculous misunderstanding.
Aslan, his face flushing, scolded Lirina, who ended up with her arms raised high, kneeling and standing in punishment for a while.
From that day on, Dorothy often visited Aslan’s house. With Lirina’s help, she entered the estate and tapped on his window to come in and learn magic from him.
“Why do you learn magic, Dorothy?”
One day, Aslan asked her as she practiced wind magic, managing to control it with just a wisp of mana. She turned to look at him.
“Huh? Because it’s fun.”
Fun. Such a primal reason silenced Aslan. Dorothy’s eyes were shining with pure joy. She was deeply delighted by magic.
“Why did you learn magic, Aslan?”
Now it was Dorothy who inquired. Why did he learn magic?
“…Because I was born into a family of magicians.”
Aslan had never contemplated why he learned magic. He was simply a direct descendent of the Igrit family.
So he learned magic. No, he was compelled to learn.
“Ah, I don’t think that’s it. Honestly, magic is hard and complicated. Young kids don’t like to do hard and difficult things. Even if everyone around them says to do it, a child’s world revolves around themselves. Ultimately, they won’t do what they dislike.”
Dorothy smiled as she said this, looking back at Aslan. Her smile was as beautiful as an ice flower sculpture.
“Maybe you found joy in learning magic?”
Aslan blinked. He had long since become tired of magic. And yet, joy?
‘Was there ever a day when I actually enjoyed learning magic?’
Watching her run gleefully after the paper airplane she had lifted with wind magic, Aslan was reminded of his very early days.
“Our Aslan, well done! This is the magic you can perform. And this will brighten your life ahead with magic.”
On the day he first succeeded in magic, his mother had lifted him into her arms, smiling warmly at him. It’s said that one reason children find their first interest and fun in something is the praise of their parents. Every day, Agatha introduced him to new magic, performing it before him.
A fiery bird soaring through the sky, a rock beetle crawling on the ground, the whisper of a wind flute, the soft touch of a water orb—her magic was always delightful and beautiful. Every spell was for Aslan, and as he grew up seeing those spells, he cherished magic in his heart.
Aslan definitely knew the joy of magic. He had loved magic. More than anyone else in the world, he had reveled in it.
Aslan lifted his head.
Dorothy, chasing after a paper airplane lifted by her own wind magic, gleamed before his eyes. An involuntary smile escaped him. He had forgotten that there was a time when he had adored the magic he so loathed.
“Aslan!”
Seeing the girl calling his name, Aslan got up. And he began to rediscover the joy of magic—all because of the girl named Dorothy.
The wind blew.
The breeze from Aslan’s magic carried Dorothy’s paper airplane high into the blue sky. The solitary paper plane soaring into the sky seemed as if it could take him to the heavens as well.
“Dorothy.”
“Hmm?”
“I think I like you.”
Without thinking, those words slipped out. The feelings that had been swelling up inside him demanded to be voiced. Dorothy heard him, and her eyes grew wide before she started flailing her arms and backpedaling.
“Wha, wait!”
Her face was now completely red as a beet. Aslan laughed. That laughter was the brightest it had been after so many weary days.
“Can, can I answer a bit later?”
Dorothy replied, unusually timid. She was someone he just couldn’t resist teasing.
“No. Answer now.”
Being the mischievous sort, Aslan caught her wrist and looked her straight in the eye, causing Dorothy’s face to turn even redder, as if it might burst.
“I don’t know! I’ll tell you tomorrow!”
Having reached her limit, she used wind magic to blow Aslan away and made her escape. In Aslan’s opinion, that spell was one of the most accomplished Dorothy had ever cast.
‘Tomorrow, then.’
Amused by Dorothy’s inability to handle embarrassment, Aslan decided to look forward to the next day.
And the following evening, as was his habit, Aslan woke up late.
“Mr. Aslan!”
Startled by Lirina’s urgent cry while he was still dressing, Aslan turned to her with a puzzled look.
“The academy dormitory is on fire!”
The moment he heard those words, Aslan’s eyes grew wide.
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