Chapter 61: Magic?

  Ray looked… better.

  Not just rested—settled. The dull weight that had been pressing on him for days was gone, replaced by a quiet steadiness. Even his steps felt firmer, lighter, as if something inside him had finally untangled itself. Chronicle noted it immediately.

  Ivaline, too, could tell.

  The brave who stood before her now was whole again.

  Ray stretched his shoulder once, then glanced at her—not with scrutiny, but with curiosity.

  “Do you have an aptitude for magic?”

  The question came out casually, as if he were asking whether she preferred bread or rice.

  Ivaline blinked.

  “I… don’t know.”

  She shook her head slowly. No memory, no sensation, nothing she could point to.

  Chronicle, however, went silent.

  Magic?

  This was the first time he’d heard the word spoken so plainly. He knew different races existed—beasts, demi-humans, things stranger still—but magic had never entered the conversation before. The realization hit him quietly but deeply.

  Ray nodded, unsurprised.

  “Figures,” he muttered. “People with magic aptitude usually gather in larger cities. Academies, towers, churches. Not places like this.”

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  A frontier town.

  A passing stop.

  A grain of sand.

  Chronicle felt something shift. The world, which had already seemed vast, suddenly expanded even further. He and Ivaline—no, they—were still at the very edge of it.

  “If you don’t know what kind of magic you’re compatible with,” Ray continued, “then we won’t force it.”

  Chronicle finally spoke through Ivaline.

  “What happens if someone tries to use magic they don’t have aptitude for?”

  Ray’s expression hardened.

  “It can backfire. Best case, you collapse. Worst case…” He paused. “Permanent damage. Burned circuits, shattered channels. Some never recover.”

  So magic wasn’t a blessing—it was a risk.

  “I won’t teach you magic,” Ray said firmly. “Not like this. If you ever go to a larger city, get your aptitude tested properly.”

  Then, after a brief hesitation, he added, “But I can show you what mine looks like.”

  He stepped back and raised a hand.

  A fireball bloomed into existence—tight, controlled, no larger than his palm. It hovered for a moment before he sent it flying. It struck a distant rock and burst apart with a sharp crack, scattering heat but no stray flame.

  Next, light.

  A soft glow formed, bright enough to banish shadow. Then it reshaped—flattened into a blade-like arc, then split into several shards that hovered obediently before dispersing.

  Finally, healing.

  Ray drew his knife and nicked his own arm—just enough to bleed. Light gathered around his hand, sank into the wound, and the skin sealed itself as if it had never been broken.

  “Each element behaves differently for each person,” he explained. “Magic isn’t just power—it’s expression. If you ever use it, you’ll have to shape it to suit you, not the other way around.”

  They trained until the sun dipped low, the sky burning orange at the horizon. When they returned to the eastern gate, the town was already preparing for night.

  Ray hesitated.

  “…Want to eat together?” he asked, almost absentmindedly.

  Before Ivaline could answer—

  Figures in black suits appeared.

  Too sudden. Too coordinated.

  They flanked Ray without a word, hands firm but not rough.

  Ivaline’s eyes sharpened. She measured the distance, their posture, their grip. Ray could have shaken them off easily. She knew that.

  But he didn’t.

  He glanced back once, calm, and nodded slightly—as if to say it’s fine.

  So, she let him go.

  Ivaline watched until they disappeared into the street, then turned toward the market. She still needed dinner.

  Whatever this was…

  Ray had chosen to face it himself.

  And for now, she trusted that choice.