I woke up abruptly — as if someone had yanked me out of the depths of sleep.

  The first thing I felt was a strange heaviness in my body. Not fatigue — density. As if I had slept for far too long.

  I slowly sat up in bed and froze.

  Light.

  The room was flooded with soft daylight. Not morning light — too bright, too warm. The sun was already high.

  I frowned and turned my head toward the window.

  — …What?

  I shifted my gaze to the wall where a simple clock hung. The hands were plain, rough, but clear enough.

  Noon.

  I stared at it for several seconds, not immediately accepting what I saw.

  — Did I… — I muttered. — Seriously?

  I had slept for more than half a day.

  That was strange. Even after long journeys I usually woke early. My body was used to a routine — my mind even more so. But this sleep had been heavy, deep… viscous.

  I ran a hand over my face and exhaled.

  After getting up, I quickly washed, dressed, and left the room.

  The house was unusually quiet. Not empty — quiet in the way places are when the people living there have long learned not to disturb one another.

  As I descended the stairs, I smelled food.

  The dining room was downstairs, to the right of the entrance hall. I paused at the threshold before stepping in.

  Two people sat at the large wooden table.

  A man and a woman.

  They looked… dignified. Not flashy, not ostentatiously wealthy, but it was immediately clear — these were people accustomed to order and status.

  The man sat straight, back rigid, movements economical. The woman carried herself more softly, but there was attentiveness in her gaze.

  When I appeared, their conversation stopped.

  They looked at me at the same time.

  — You must be Eiron, — the man said first.

  His voice was calm. Even. Neither cold nor warm.

  — Yes, — I replied with a slight nod. — Good morning.

  The woman smiled gently.

  — It’s already daytime, — she corrected. — But after a long journey, that’s forgivable.

  I felt a flicker of embarrassment but nodded.

  — Sorry. I must’ve been more tired than I thought.

  — The road to Illusion exhausts even adults, — the man said. — I am Kronos Lurue.

  So this was him.

  Snow-white hair to his shoulders, and a strict but composed gaze. For some reason, I had imagined him exactly like this.

  — And this is my wife, — he continued. — Mirella.

  — A pleasure to meet you, Eiron, — she said, gesturing to an empty seat. — Sit down. You must be hungry.

  I sat, trying to remain composed.

  — Thank you.

  For a few seconds they simply looked at me, as if assessing. For the first time in years, I felt slightly uncomfortable.

  — Alak wrote that you learn quickly, — Kronos said. — And that you have an interest in magic.

  — Yes, — I answered. — Especially enchanting.

  — We’ll see about that, — he nodded. — In time.

  The phrase sounded neutral, but I caught the subtext.

  Don’t promise yourself too much.

  Mirella poured me a warm drink.

  — Don’t worry, — she said more gently. — Just settle in. Illusion feels overwhelming at first.

  I thanked her.

  The conversation didn’t quite flow, but it wasn’t awkward either.

  Formal.

  Kronos took a sip of his drink and, without looking at me, asked:

  — How is Lorelin these days?

  I raised a brow slightly but answered:

  — Calm. The city is growing, but without sharp changes. Trade is mostly local.

  — And Alak? — he asked, finally looking at me. — Still with the guild?

  — Yes. He works there still. Travels occasionally for business, but spends most of his time in Lorelin.

  Kronos nodded, as if confirming his own thoughts.

  — He was always… stubborn, — he said without judgment. — But reliable. Men like that rarely rise quickly — but they last.

  I wasn’t sure whether to agree, so I stayed silent.

  Mirella stepped in softly:

  — And you, Eiron? — she looked at me more closely. — How was the journey?

  — Long, — I answered honestly. — But interesting. I saw many things.

  — Illusion is very different from the provinces, — she said. — The rhythm here is different.

  — I’ve already noticed, — I nodded.

  Kronos set his cup aside and laced his fingers together.

  — Since you’ll be living in this house, we should clarify a few things immediately.

  I straightened slightly.

  — While you’re here, your responsibilities are simple, — he continued. — You learn. Mostly by observing. Interfering in workshop work without permission is not advisable.

  — I understand, — I replied.

  — Good, — Kronos nodded. — You’ll spend most of your time with Lorean. He’ll show you the workshop, explain the basics. If you assist — you’ll do so under his direction.

  Mirella added:

  — We don’t expect immediate results from you. But idleness is not welcomed here.

  — I don’t intend to be idle, — I said calmly.

  Kronos studied me more closely. A second longer than before.

  — We’ll see, — he said without pressure. — Alak wrote that you’re diligent. A useful quality. But books are one thing. Practice is entirely another.

  — I understand that, — I answered.

  He nodded, as if the reply had been expected.

  — Then there shouldn’t be any problems.

  The conversation faded on its own after that.

  They weren’t dismissing me — but they weren’t trying to continue either.

  I got the impression they weren’t exactly happy that I would be living with them.

  Of course, they were polite.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  But I still felt like a stranger here.

  Well… my own fault.

  I was the one who imagined I’d be welcomed with open arms.

  I finished breakfast, thanked Mirella, and went back up to my room.

  For a few minutes I simply sat on the bed, letting my body fully wake up. Sleep still clung to my thoughts, but without the same viscosity as in the morning. The house remained quiet — not oppressive, but not cozy either. More… functional. Working.

  I was just about to unpack my bag when there was a soft knock on the door.

  — Eiron, — Lorean’s voice came from the other side. — You alive in there?

  — More or less, — I answered, getting up. — Come in.

  He peeked inside, scanned the room with his eyes, and nodded as if confirming everything was in place.

  — Let’s go, — he said. — Father asked me to show you the workshop. And explain what we actually do here while I’m at it.

  I threw on my jacket and followed him into the corridor.

  We went down a different staircase — not the one leading to the dining room. This passage was narrower. The stone here was darker, in places covered with traces of old enchantments, as if this part of the house remembered far more than it wanted to show.

  — I’ll say this right away, — Lorean began as we walked, — if you think enchanting is endless creation of new swords, rings, and amulets… you’re in for disappointment.

  — I didn’t think that, — I answered honestly. — But I suspected it wasn’t that romantic.

  He smirked.

  — Most of the time we… — he pushed open a heavy door at the end of the corridor, — …do this.

  The workshop greeted us with dry, warm air and a faint background hum of mana.

  Not oppressive like battle mages — stable. As if the room itself maintained balance.

  Tables lined the walls.

  On them — dozens of items: rings, bracelets, blades, armor plates, crystals, orbs, even ordinary-looking tools. Above some of them, runes shimmered faintly.

  — Recharging, — Lorean said, noticing my gaze. — Almost all of these are already enchanted items.

  — Yeah, I’ve read about that, — I replied.

  He walked to one of the tables and picked up a ring with a dimly glowing engraving.

  — Enchantments don’t disappear instantly. They fade slowly.

  He set the ring back down and traced a finger through the air as if outlining an invisible diagram.

  — Any enchantment is a structure. As long as there’s mana in it, it’s stable. But over time, mana leaks away. Use accelerates the process, but even without it, enchantments decay. Like cracks in stone.

  — And if you don’t recharge the item, the effect weakens… or disappears entirely.

  — I see you know the basics, — he said.

  He moved further, pointing to a separate section of the workshop where crystals and metal frames woven with runes stood.

  — Recharging is safe, stable, and profitable. Clients come regularly. Merchants, guards, mages — even nobility.

  — New enchantments are rare. Expensive, time-consuming, and risky.

  I slowly nodded, examining the workshop.

  — So you don’t create new items very often?

  — Exactly, — Lorean confirmed. — New enchantments are ordered either by rich idiots… or by people who genuinely need something specific. Everything else is maintenance.

  He turned to me and narrowed his eyes slightly.

  — So if you want to learn, you’ll start not with legendary artifacts — but with understanding why old ones still work.

  — Fair enough, — I said. — If you don’t know how a thing dies, you won’t understand how to create it.

  Lorean froze for a second, then smirked wider.

  — You know more than I expected, — he said.

  He clapped his hand on the table.

  — Alright. Today I’ll show you the basics. What a proper structure looks like, where leaks usually begin, and why Guild books usually lie… — he glanced at me mockingly, — or let’s say… omit details.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Looks like I’d have less free time than I expected.

  Though enchanting itself didn’t seem that difficult. I’d read dozens of textbooks and had some practical experience already.

  — Alright, let’s start with something simple, — Lorean said, turning.

  He walked to a nearby table and picked up a small one-handed sword with several runes etched along the blade.

  — Here. This blade needs recharging. I’ll show you how it’s done — you just stand there and watch.

  I looked more closely at the runes on the blade.

  I recognized the enchantment.

  Wind Burst.

  Upon contact with flesh, the blade released a thin jet of compressed air — capable of rupturing internal organs.

  I wouldn’t envy whoever tested that effect firsthand.

  — Let me try it myself.

  — What?

  Lorean looked at me like I’d said something outrageous. The expression on his face was priceless.

  — I know this enchantment — Wind Burst. And I know how to recharge items. So I’d like to try.

  — Well… alright. But have you ever done this before?

  — No. But I’ve read quite a lot of textbooks on the craft, — I answered calmly.

  Lorean smiled.

  — And so what? You do realize books alone aren’t enough to understand how this works?

  — Probably. But still.

  He kept saying theory wasn’t enough — but recharging artifacts was a relatively simple process.

  So what if I hadn’t done it before?

  Sometimes theory alone is enough to learn something.

  Lorean looked at me like I was an idiot.

  What kind of look was that? Was it really that hard to let me try?

  Without much hesitation, he said:

  — Fine. Have it your way. Let’s see what you’re worth.

  He said it like it was some serious test.

  Or an exam.

  Was he trying to intimidate me? Thinking I’d be scared because I was a ten-year-old kid?

  Yeah, right.

  Recharging artifacts is as easy as two plus two.

  I’ll show you what I’m worth.

  I stepped up to the table and rolled up my sleeves.

  Alright… just pour mana into the object. Slowly. Carefully.

  I touched the blade and began channeling mana into it.

  The runes glowed faint white.

  The key was not to rush — or you could damage the runes and the enchantment itself.

  At first everything went well. Very well.

  The blade absorbed my mana slowly, in small amounts. No headache — meaning I was doing it right.

  Lorean watched closely, not interfering.

  Then suddenly…

  I smelled burning.

  A second later the runes began to smoke.

  What the hell? I was doing everything right.

  I weakened the mana flow — but apparently too abruptly.

  The runes hissed… then went dark.

  The blade heated so fast it burned my fingers. I jerked my hands away.

  The glow vanished completely.

  Lorean smiled.

  — You finished? — he asked, barely holding back laughter.

  — No, I didn’t. I did everything right. Probably.

  — Probably? You just said you knew everything.

  He was mocking me now?

  Alright… maybe I did rush practice.

  I should’ve listened to him.

  — Fine. Show me how it’s done properly.

  — Ha-ha. And this is the result of all those books you read?

  — I did everything exactly as the manuals described. I don’t know why it didn’t work.

  — Because reading isn’t enough. You have to understand how it works.

  — Yeah… I get that now. I thought it was simple. Books made it sound much easier. So can you show me how to recharge the blade properly?

  — Show you? What’s there to show? You already ruined it. It’d be easier to throw this sword away and enchant a new one than fix this.

  He pointed at the blade.

  — See? The runes burned out. Now the enchantment will malfunction — if it works at all. This isn’t a magical artifact anymore. It’s a piece of metal.

  You can ruin an enchantment that easily?

  All I did was rush the mana flow…

  Damn it. I should’ve listened.

  None of this would’ve happened.

  — You’re lucky this blade wasn’t for sale, — Lorean said. — Next time, watch and listen. Even if you think you can handle it yourself.

  He tossed the sword into a wooden crate nearby and grabbed a dagger hanging above the table.

  — Now watch carefully… how it’s actually done.

  A calm, sunlit day hung over Illusion.

  The sky was veiled in a thin layer of clouds, through which the sun shone softly, without harsh shadows. The air was warm, though slightly stuffy compared to the влажный, морской breeze of Lorelin.

  The central market bustled with its usual life.

  Vendors’ voices overlapped, the smell of fresh bread, spices, and hot metal from a nearby forge filled the air. People moved in a dense flow — merchants, craftsmen, guards, children chasing each other between stalls.

  Among them walked a man in a dark cloak, hood pulled low.

  He didn’t stand out.

  He walked calmly, without looking around or quickening his pace, as if he already knew the route. The crowd parted before him unconsciously — someone stepped aside, someone lingered at a stall for an extra second, as if forgetting why they’d stopped.

  He passed through the market and turned into quieter streets, soon reaching the craftsmen’s district.

  The Lurue house stood as it always had — pale stone, neat courtyard, low fence.

  Nothing remarkable.

  The man was about to walk past when his gaze slid into the yard.

  There was a boy there.

  Eiron stood holding a broom, sweeping fallen leaves and small debris into a pile. His movements were unhurried, slightly clumsy — it was clear he was doing it without much enthusiasm, more out of habit than diligence.

  The man stopped.

  For a fraction of a moment, the world around him seemed to lose focus. The noise of the street dulled, the movements of people behind him became distant, irrelevant.

  Beneath the hood, his gaze changed.

  As if he saw something unusual.

  Something that shouldn’t be there.

  He tilted his head slightly, as if listening not to sounds… but to something deeper.

  — Strange… — he murmured quietly, almost soundlessly.

  Eiron didn’t hear him. He bent down to pick up a fallen branch, muttering something under his breath in annoyance.

  The man watched for another second.

  — Interesting, — he added, even quieter. — I’ll have to look into that.

  The words dissolved into the air, leaving no trace.

  He turned away as calmly as he had stopped and walked off — away from the house, the yard, the boy who never once lifted his head.

  After a few steps, the city’s noise returned in full.

  The market lived, the streets breathed — Illusion noticed nothing unusual.

  Eiron finished cleaning, set the broom aside, and stretched, feeling only mild fatigue in his arms — and a strange, fleeting sensation, as if for a moment everything had become too quiet.

  — Eiron, you done? — Lorean called out.

  Eiron turned his head lazily.

  — Yeah. Why?

  — My mom baked a lirion pie.

  Eiron’s eyes lit up.

  It was already evening, and the last time he’d eaten was in the morning.

  — Alright, I’m coming.

  — Better hurry. There are only two slices left.

  — Don’t you dare touch them. Save me one.

  He dropped the broom and ran inside, completely unaware of the danger that was already drawing closer.