She tilted her head, studying him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "You've got talent," she said, her tone measured but firm. "More than I expected when we started. I'd rank you Intermediate now—still a novice compared to my Advanced standing, but you're no beginner anymore. Keep pushing, and you might outstrip the sun yet."
The words sank into him, a quiet pride blooming warm and fierce in his chest. Intermediate—a rank from Seraphine, a mage whose name carried weight even beyond Talsara. It was proof, tangible and real, that he was clawing his way toward something greater. He clutched the book tighter, its edges digging into his palms, and nodded. "I will," he promised, the vow as much to himself as to her.
Lirien stepped up next, her cheeks flushed from dancing, her green eyes darting to the floor before meeting his. She pressed a small object into his hand—a wooden pendant, carved into the shape of a fox, its tail curling around a tiny flame etched into its side.
The wood was smooth, polished by her hands, and the fox's eyes were twin dots of inlaid amber, glowing faintly in the lantern light. "I made it," she said, her voice quieter than usual, almost shy, her fingers lingering against his for a moment. "Took me weeks—kept messing up the tail. It's for luck, and… to remind you of home, wherever you end up."
He turned it over, marveling at the detail—the fox's sly grin, the flame's delicate lines, the warmth of the wood against his skin. It felt alive, a piece of Lirien's stubborn, fierce spirit carved into it. "It's perfect," he said, slipping the cord over his neck, the pendant settling against his chest, a steady weight over his heart. "Thank you, Lirien."
Her grin broke through the shyness, bright and bold, and she pulled him into a quick, fierce hug, her arms tight around him. "Happy Age of Promise, Kaelith," she said, her breath warm against his ear before she stepped back, her usual fire snapping back into place.
The night stretched on, a tapestry of moments woven with laughter and light. Veyra perched on a stool, recounting a story of Kaelith as a toddler—how he'd once toddled into the chicken coop and emerged covered in feathers, clucking proudly—her laughter spilling out as the villagers roared. Talren led a toast, his voice booming over the clink of cups, his hazel eyes shining with a pride that made Kaelith's throat tighten. The children darted under tables, sneaking extra tarts, their hands sticky with jam, while Kaelith sat at the center of it all, the spellbook and pendant in his lap, his tunic streaked with cider from a cup Lirien had knocked over in her enthusiasm.
As the villagers trickled out, their voices fading into the night, Kaelith lingered by the hearth with Talren and Veyra. The fire had burned low, its embers casting a soft, flickering glow across their faces, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow. The air was warm, heavy with the lingering scents of smoke and roasted meat, and the silence settled like a blanket, intimate and calm.
Kaelith shifted on his stool, the spellbook resting on his knees, its runes cool under his fingertips. "There's something I've been thinking about," he said, his voice slicing through the quiet, steady despite the weight of what came next. "About tonight—about my promise."
Talren leaned forward, his hazel eyes sharp and attentive, the lines of his face deepening in the firelight. "Go on, lad," he said, his tone encouraging, a father's quiet strength.
Kaelith drew a deep breath, the air tasting of ash and resolve, and let the words form, each one a brick in a path he couldn't unbuild. "I want to go to Roxara Academy," he said, his voice firming with every syllable. "I need to learn more—about magic, about beating the sun, about who I can be. I've got this… this chance, and I can't waste it hiding here forever."
Talren's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face, his hands stilling on the table. "Chance?" he asked, tilting his head. "What do you mean by that—'this chance'?"
Kaelith's heart stuttered, a flash of Tokyo's rain cutting through his mind, but he forced a smile, brushing it off with a shrug. "Just a way of saying it," he said, keeping his tone light. "I mean, I've got a shot at something big—something that could help all of us. I want to take it."
Veyra reached for his hand, her fingers wrapping around his, her touch soft but unyielding. "We'll stand by you, Kaelith," she said, her storm-gray eyes glistening in the ember light. "Whatever you choose, we're proud of you—always."
He squeezed her hand back, gratitude swelling until it pressed against his ribs, thick and warm. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough with it. "I'll make it worth it—I promise."
The door creaked open, and Lirien poked her head in, her braid loose and wild from the night's revelry, her cheeks still flushed. "You lot still talking?" she called, her voice teasing as she stepped inside, brushing crumbs from her tunic. "Come on, Kaelith—the stars are out, and you haven't even seen the sky yet."
He laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day, and rose to his feet, the pendant bouncing against his chest. "Alright, I'm coming," he said, following her out, the spellbook tucked under his arm.