Surrounded by the comfortable warmth of his mother's embrace, Victor struggled to nudge himself awake. However, after a while, this had become somewhat of a habit and much easier to do.
He tugged at his mother's clothing and seeing that she did not respond, Victor swayed his body around to free himself from her grasp.
'I'll find an excuse to sleep on my own soon enough!' He thought. Oh, how that would make his nocturnal activities more practical!
Fortunately for him, the bedframe was low-hanging. Silently climbing down the bed, he relished in the fact that he had little feet that made no noise as he walked.
If Alice ever woke up, either accidentally to relieve her bodily needs or because she detected Victor's absence, she would be in for a flabbergasting ride.
Every night, ever since he cast his first spell at the doctor's, Victor yearned for more. Magic was enchanting and addictive: whether it had been in Occidia or Lusland.
However, several differences massively intrigued the toddler. Back in Occidia, magic was simple – hold out your hands and circulate your mana, and your corresponding element would manifest itself.
Here, however, it was not as intuitive: Visualization, perfect chanting, a threshold of mana and control over it were all necessary steps for even the simplest of spells.
'If magic was akin to a supernatural force within Occidia, it is much more similar to science within Lusland.'
Victor thought it both troublesome and fascinating. And thus, he wished to learn more.
With context out of the way, Victor's secret nightly activities consisted of the following:
- Practicing his light spell.
- Grabbing the magic book out of the library without making a ruckus.
- Trying a harder spell and failing miserably.
- Draining his mana.
- And repeat.
To be fair, the light spell was really the simplest – the sigil was memorable and rudimentary and it required no control over his mana whatsoever. In comparison, the "Wind gust" spell which followed it in the book was a magnitude ahead in terms of both complexity and difficulty.
Victor almost gave up, wondering if he should act his age – a decision he did not want to take.
To also be fair, Victor's nightly training did bear meager fruit. In 2 months, he had grasped the basics of a new spell.
Overjoyed at this 'progress', he continued sneaking out at night, and it was identical for that night.
As usual, Victor carefully opened the doors and made his way to the corridor. The study was beyond the staircase, wherein the moon cast her silver light and allowed the toddler a basic sense of direction.
'Huh?' His steps grinding to an absolute halt, Victor's saliva traveled his throat. The moon. It wasn't the only source of light.
The notorious doors were open. The door he wasn't allowed to enter or open, beyond which his father, an unknown man, had been resting for all of his life.
'Matteo Agosto, the man they call my father. They're lying, and he's dead, isn't he?' Victor was all too familiar with it. Trying to spare children from the pains of death, dying became 'resting' or 'going on a trip'.
It was understandable, for there was no greater pain than grief and no greater pain than the trauma of a child growing up too soon.
As such, while he did not believe his mother, the forbidden chamber was a sore subject for him – a source of superstition and curiosity, the only unknown part of his small world.
Why was it that this night, then, not only was the door open, but soft candlelight streamed out of its crevices?
With caution and morbid curiosity, Victor neared the door. His sense of vision wasn't the only one to betray common sense, however, as his hearing picked up a voice within.
"Is it right then, to keep you in a state of constant misery?"
'Dr. Stefano?' There was no mistake. This was the voice of the man who tested his magical aptitude earlier.
Beyond that duty, Victor was avert to the man and wished to avoid him, if possible. It was a strange feeling, perhaps only a misguided judgment of a kind man.
Yet, he didn't understand why the man stared at him so much, and continued doing so even when Victor caught on: as though he did not expect a child to think much of his gaze (a rightful sentiment).
'Distasteful and creepy. Does he have a strange interest in children?' Goosebumps rose all over his body. Yet he couldn't do anything: it was unpleasant that he was so vulnerable, so weak due to this body.
'I'll speak to Mother tomorrow. That should make her the slightest bit cautious of the man.'
Speaking of his mother, he did not understand why she and Emilia seemed to enjoy the man's presence so much. His mom was perhaps a lonely widow, but she never showed any interest in men notwithstanding high status or good looks.
Why was it then that they laughed at the man's every unfunny joke? That they smiled and smiled, moving their lips like an actor under the controlling strings of a film director?
Truth is, he did not know, nor could he prove his suspicions in any way. What was 'constant misery' either way?
'Why is this man in the forbidden room, whispering to himself?'
Leaning on the door, he eavesdropped.
"Perhaps I would be your murderer, but your greatest benefactor in the heavens above. I hope then that you can also let go of the past – for we both had promises and ambitions to maintain."
The door creaked. Victor convulsed, causing further sound.
"Fuck."
His teeth pounded against each other. Murder. Murderer. These were strong words. No one wished to hear them if only in certain appropriate contexts, such as a courtroom. However, Victor did not hear wrong.
'Dr. Stefano would be a murderer.'
The voice fell silent from behind the door. Victor was terrified, thinking the man had heard him.
He turned around – but his short legs reminded him of his inevitable slowness.
He turned back, and cursed, 'Fuck it. I'll play the act.'
"Creo-
"Dr. Stefano? What are you doing?"
"WHO?"
Suddenly, a burst of wind swept over Victor. Like a tumbleweed, his body was thrown into the air and slammed back to the door.
In a reflexive manner, he protected his head with his left hand, and numbness spread through the latter as high-speed wind crushed it against the hard door.
"Ah. It's you. Of course, it's you."
The orange candlelight hit the doctor's face upwards, casting a shadow over his eyes and mouth. "That was terrifying. I have never felt so blind before, so vulnerable – only to turn around and find a toddler?"
Victor breathed in and out, but his small lungs went against his wishes.
"What are you?" Stefano made no sound as his leather shoes touched the floor.
"I'm- I'm Victor…"
"Of course, you are. The genius toddler who can cast magic and speak? Whom I cannot detect even as he watches me from behind?"
'Crap. Did I impress too much? Mother had told me to show everything, to display the best of my skills to make a good impression. Was that too much?'
Victor fixed the doctor. Suddenly the latter's hands moved outwards.
He reacted with haste, "Creo Defensio Ex Nihilo!"
Victor's mana raged and tumbled. It twisted, turned, all towards the purpose of defending him. This was not ultimate magic, but it was the spell he learned after months.
A soft green light appeared around him – a sign of imperfections leaking out light as the book told him.
Another burst of wind stormed at him. His shield instantly broke.
However, Victor grinned as the burst became a quiet gust he barely resisted.
"Ludicrous. A shield spell: a horrible one, but nonetheless, a shield spell. You are either a monster from the legends or a prodigy unlike any."
Now came the other problem. Victor's instinct to live surfaced. He enjoyed this place: he had a good family, an enchanting pastime and the promise of a greater future. Why should he die?
Now that would be unfair. Children regularly died, not having achieved or lived enough to 'live' – but he wasn't like them, was he? Was he?
Then here he was, in front of a man who showed no qualms in calling himself a murderer. A man who displayed chantless magic and could likely kill him as if he was an ant.
Victor's sense of reality broke down. Whatever. 'I'm going back to Earth if I die either way.'
He remembered his contract, and cowardly relief washed over him like warm water on a cold evening night, or Alice's embrace, or Emilia's mixed attempts at teaching, or the cat that reminded him of the broader world beyond his manor.
He closed his eyes. Stefano made no noise as he walked.
"Interesting."
"You are interesting."
A cold, big hand rubbed his hair. Victor froze. With a slight thud, the door opened, and he was thrown to the side.
When he opened his eyes, the room was as dark as it should be. He stayed in the room, hugging his knees for a while.
Then he stood up. His back ached, and his hands were numb.
Victor tried to find his way out and felt the walls of the room. When the hard wall became smooth wood, he snuck along with the door and left.
Now it was only moonlight. Silver light reflected off a glass vase and lit up his path. As lonely as he remembered.
With quick steps, he made his way back to his mother's room. Finding his numb hands did not allow him to climb or jump onto the mattress, Victor laid down on the floor.
Sleep soon came over him, and with it, a long day came to a closing halt.
"Persons come by to our life and when they leave, their traces still remain within us – their trauma, their traits, their tenderness or their terror. With my friend, Victor Agosto, I think much of the same, perhaps to a greater magnitude than the average individual." – Irul Flores, Diary Entry.