"So you truly hail from the East?"
Fiona's voice broke the relative silence of the modest inn room, her tone carrying both curiosity and a hint of skepticism.
Mikoto, who had been absently staring at the wooden ceiling beams above, turned his head slightly in her direction before exhaling through his nose.
"Far East, uh, yes. Tokyo specifically."
"Tokyo? Tokyo, Tokyo." She rolled the word around on her tongue like one might test the taste of an unfamiliar fruit, expression shifting between mild intrigue and something resembling disapproval. "You Easterners have quite a strange naming sense," she muttered, shaking her head slightly.
At present, the two of them were seated within the confines of an utterly unremarkable inn room. There was a single window to the left, through which the dull glow of torchlights illuminated the cobbled streets below. The wooden floor, worn but well-kept, had a modest rug thrown atop it, doing little to soften the occasional creak of old planks beneath shifting weight. Against the far wall stood a wardrobe of dark oak, its doors slightly ajar, revealing neatly folded spare linens within. And, of course, the centerpiece of the room—two normal-sized beds, placed side by side with simple covers draped atop them.
Mikoto sat on the left bed, arms crossed, while Fiona, ever poised, perched on the right one, one leg crossed over the other as she studied him like a scholar examining a newly discovered species. And in some ways, that was precisely what she was doing.
"Are you sure you hail from the East?" she asked again, narrowing her crimson eyes at him. "Though not impossible, it is passing strange that Easterners should be blessed by a Goddess of this general area. I have more to ask, but I suppose you must have questions of your own, no?"
Oh, he had questions.
Questions like, "What's the quickest way to the nearest airport?"
Or "Why the hell does no one know what Japan is?"
Or, perhaps most important of all, "Why is my life suddenly a convoluted isekai plot?"
Mikoto had already tried mentioning Japan, Europe, the United States—hell, he even threw in Australia just to see if it rang a bell. And yet, each and every time, Fiona had dismissed them as "off-names", saying she had never heard of any such places.
Now, Mikoto wasn't an idiot. He could, of course, assume she was just messing with him, that this was all some elaborate prank.
But she seemed deathly serious. Too serious.
So that left only two other possibilities.
One: Fiona was some isolated, backwater country bumpkin who had lived her entire life under a rock.
Or Two:
( "No, you read too much isekai, Mikoto." )
He shut his eyes tightly, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose.
He refused to entertain that thought. It was ridiculous. It was insane.
This whole situation was absurd, right?
This whole body changing thing? That was just some sicko's twisted plastic surgery experiment on him, right?
But then what was all this "spawn of the Goddess" business?
Fiona and that old man Emil—they were just crazy, right?
But… then there was the magic.
The very real, tangible magic.
And those very real fox-like ears that twitched atop Fiona's head.
And the very real fact that his body no longer belonged to him.
His throat felt dry.
Could this really be…?
No. No, no, no, no, NO.
The thought was like a pit forming in his stomach, swallowing rationality and replacing it with something much colder.
Was he simply whisked away from his world just like that?
Torn away from his home? From his family?
It wasn't right.
It wasn't right.
Was he just supposed to accept this?
"Mikoto?"
He clenched his fists.
What kind of sick, twisted bastard was responsible for this?
His mother. His sister. His aunts.
He might never see them again.
But there had to be a way back.
Right?
"Miko—"
Yes.
If he came to a different world, then there had to be a way back.
It was only natural, right?
Right?
( "Yes, it's only natural. There should be a way back, right? It's only natural that there should be. Hehe, I mean, I came to this damn world, so there should be a way back to them. Mom and Hinata, Aunt Maya, and everyone else. Yeah, I'll definitely get back. I'll get back, I'll get back, I'll get, I'll get back, I'll get back, I'll get, I'll get back, I'll get back—" )
"Mikoto!"
His entire body jolted as Fiona practically shouted his name.
His breath came in short, uneven bursts, and only now did he realize that his nails had been digging into his palms.
His eyes darted to Fiona, who was now frowning.
He forced out a weak chuckle. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."
She didn't look convinced.
"Hmm, you are fairly paler than usual," she observed. "It does not seem as if you were merely lost in thought. Is aught amiss?"
Mikoto shook his head.
"I-it's nothing." His voice did not sound convincing.
But before she could press further, he quickly forced the conversation in another direction.
"A-anyway, so you and Emil. How did the two of you meet?"
There was a brief pause.
Fiona tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but ultimately sighed.
"Well, if you say so."
There was skepticism in her voice, but she let it slide. After all, once her curiosity about him was satisfied, the two of them would probably never see each other again.
"But if you're curious about how I met that old fool, then I suppose I could enlighten you." She cleared her throat, straightening her posture.
Mikoto shifted slightly, eyes flicking to the ceiling, already bracing himself for whatever self-indulgent monologue Fiona was about to deliver.
"As I told you previously, I am the daughter of the renowned Duke Arthur Von Achenbach."
Her tone carried the distinct weight of importance, as if simply uttering her father's name should cause Mikoto to gasp in awe. It didn't.
"My father, for lack of better words, was always an overprotective fool," she continued, tossing her long, silky hair over her shoulder with an air of theatrical exasperation. "He bid me to learn all I could about both magic and martial arts."
Mikoto, who had been staring at a particularly interesting knot in the wooden ceiling, felt his interest pique ever so slightly.
Magic.
Now we're getting somewhere.
Before all this madness, before waking up in a completely different world with a completely different body, Mikoto would have laughed in someone's face if they told him magic was real. He'd just assume they were a chuuni.
But now?
Now, magic was a very real thing—something he had to acknowledge, even if his brain wanted to reject it.
"He wanted me to be able to protect myself if the need arises," Fiona went on, pride creeping into her voice.
Mikoto nodded absentmindedly, still caught up in his own thoughts. Magic… If magic was real, then maybe—just maybe—it could be the key to figuring out how the hell to get home.
"I heeded his wishes and even landed myself at the Luminare Academy of Arcane Arts."
Fiona's voice was positively dripping with smugness now, her fox-like ears twitching ever so slightly in what could only be described as barely contained arrogance.
"This is all very interesting, Fiona-san, but—"
"Hush, hush, I'm getting there."
She cut him off instantly, waving a delicate hand in the air as if shooing away a minor inconvenience. Mikoto huffed through his nose but let her continue.
"I am currently on leave from the academy, as I just finished my last year. And I was even recommended as a teacher's assistant when the new year begins."
Another dramatic hair flip. Another smug expression.
Mikoto rubbed his temples.
("Oh, great. She's a walking, talking anime trope.")
"But you see," she pressed on, oblivious to his growing exasperation, "I wanted to prepare myself properly. So I set off on a journey without my father's permission."
And there it is.
Mikoto could already see where this was going.
"But... I may have neglected to... take the necessary funds."
Her voice lowered ever so slightly at that last part, and Mikoto felt his eye twitch.
"...Let me get this straight," he said, leaning forward slightly. "You, a noblewoman, ran away from home—without telling anyone—without bringing money?"
Fiona, ever the proud noble, immediately cleared her throat and sat up straighter, as if sheer posture could erase the sheer level of irresponsibility she had just admitted to.
"Well," she said, voice perfectly even, "I had thought my skills alone would suffice in providing for myself."
Mikoto stared.
Fiona stared back.
A beat of silence passed.
"...So you were broke."
A muscle twitched in Fiona's jaw.
"Temporarily low on funds," she corrected.
Mikoto snorted.
She ignored him.
"On my journey, I came across an old fool. He was in need of someone to guard his pitiful life and wares, so I bid him to hire me. Though such work is beneath me, I desperately needed the funds. So there, that is how I met that old fool."
Mikoto blinked.
"...That's it?"
Fiona crossed her arms, tail swishing slightly. "Yes."
"That whole drawn-out speech… for that?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You might be wondering for what purpose I told you so much, no?"
"Yup."
"Well, you see," she said, as if explaining something to a particularly slow child, "I wish to establish a connection with you. And I have learned that the best way to go about that is to get to know each other better."
Mikoto eyed her warily.
"...I see. But why?"
Fiona sighed, shaking her head slightly.
"I will not beat around the bush. I'm not one of those scheming noble girls."
She said that as if it was supposed to be reassuring, but all Mikoto could think was:
That's exactly what a scheming noble girl would say.
"You see, your position as a spawn of the Goddess Octavia is not a small matter," she continued. "Your existence as a whole is valuable."
(" Again with this Octavia nonsense." )
Mikoto inhaled deeply, forcing himself to think.
Come on. Let's think for a sec.
You read tons of bullshit isekai, Mikoto. None of this should be shocking.
But it is—because it's reality.
"Continue," he said finally.
Fiona nodded.
"Since you're a foreigner and severely lacking in knowledge, I shall enlighten you."
She took a moment, adjusting her posture as if preparing for a grand lecture.
"The Gods and Goddesses possess spawns—people they deem worthy of their blessing. Few are worthy of them."
"So I'm guessing I was blessed by this Goddess, Octavia?" Mikoto asked, raising an eyebrow. "Is that why I look like this?"
"Correct. Our history tells us that the Goddess was a beauty with skin as white as snow and a mane of hair of equal color. And then there were her contrasting eyes, which shone like a million brilliant rubies."
Her voice had shifted—suddenly more reverent, almost practiced, as if she were reciting scripture.
Mikoto sighed, rubbing the back of his head.
"Though," Fiona added, tilting her head slightly, "as I said, it is almost unheard of for a male to receive her blessing. But are you sure you're—"
"Yes, I'm sure. You want proof?"
Without hesitation, Mikoto reached for his pants.
"Wait, wait! There's no need for that!"
Fiona practically lunged forward, hands flying up in full-blown panic as her face lit up like a damn lantern.
Mikoto smirked.
"Relax, relax. Just making a point."
Fiona cleared her throat violently, ears twitching with clear irritation.
"S-so you see," she said, visibly struggling to regain composure, "these spawns of the Gods excel in certain talents depending on their deity. In your case, the Goddess Octavia governs over war, magic, and navigation. I'm sure you've already noticed that you're stronger than any normal person. Faster, more agile."
Mikoto hummed.
Magic, huh?
"Fiona-san, can you teach me more about magic?"
Fiona blinked. Then smirked.
"I suppose I could. It would be interesting to see how another spawn of Octavia gets nurtured."
Tonight was going to be a very, very long night.
-------------------
Magic was a deceptively simple concept. It existed in countless forms, served endless purposes, and varied dramatically in power and execution. Some wielded it as an art, others as a science, and for a rare few, it was as natural as breathing.
But how did it function? How did a person mold the intangible into something tangible?
Envision water. How would you create water from nothing? The fundamental laws of the world dictated that one could not simply will it into existence. Even in a realm governed by magic, something could not be made from nothing.
This is where mana came in.
Mana was omnipresent. It flowed unseen through every corner of existence—suffusing the land, the air, the very fabric of reality. It slumbered within the roots of ancient trees, danced in the blood of beasts, and coiled within the hearts of humans and demi-humans alike. It was, in essence, the lifeblood of the world, an unseen force waiting to be shaped, controlled, and given purpose.
However, possession of mana alone did not grant mastery over it. The key distinction lay in how much a person could draw from their internal well. In simple terms, every individual possessed an ever-replenishing reservoir of mana—but the volume they could extract at any given moment varied immensely.
A Simple Example:
Imagine two individuals, Person A and Person B.
Person A could access and wield 80% of their mana reserve. Person B could only tap into 10% of theirs.
While both possessed a finite supply, Person A would appear vastly superior simply because they could harness more of it. In this way, magic was not merely about quantity—it was about efficiency.
Some prodigies could draw 100%, 200%, or even exponentially higher percentages, breaking past ordinary limits and commanding unfathomable power. The greatest magic wielders in history had reached beyond human comprehension, tapping into mana at levels measured not in mere percentages but in billions of times the normal limit.
And yet, raw power alone did not define a mage.
Every single person had a unique mana signature, an invisible fingerprint woven into their very soul. It was exceedingly rare for two individuals to share identical mana patterns. This distinction made mana not only a source of energy but a deeply personal aspect of one's existence.
Which brought them back to the original question:
How does one create water with magic?
There was no singular answer. No fixed formula. No universal incantation.
Magic was deeply individualistic—each wielder had their own method, their own interpretation, their own unique approach to bending reality.
Some relied on imagination.
A sorcerer might close their eyes and envision the flowing serenity of a river, the crisp coolness of a mountain spring, the ceaseless crash of ocean waves. By imprinting that vivid mental image upon the world and channeling mana accordingly, they could manifest the concept of water—not ordinary liquid, but an idea given form through magic.
Others approached the process scientifically, breaking down the composition of water to its most fundamental elements and assembling it through sheer precision.
For Mikoto, it was the latter.
His mind worked differently. His thought process did not stem from instinct or fantasy—it was built upon logic and understanding.
("Molecules need to bond. Water molecules have two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. It's a simple process of constructing the necessary atoms and fusing them. With mana as the medium, I can manipulate those elements freely. Then, voilà.")
A sphere of shimmering water hovered above Mikoto's outstretched palm, no larger than a basketball. It rotated gently in place, reflecting the dim candlelight in mesmerizing, undulating patterns. The liquid was not ordinary—its movement was too precise, its shape too perfect. This was not natural water; it was magic given form.
Fiona, seated across from him, narrowed her eyes, the slightest furrow of her brow betraying her disbelief.
"That was... a lot faster than I expected," she muttered, arms crossing as she examined the flawless construct in his hand. "And not even a glyph? You just willed it into existence?"
She wasn't even masking her skepticism at this point. No glyph. No incantation. No traditional focusing mechanism. He had skipped over all the conventional steps and directly shaped mana into an advanced construct.
That was not normal.
("Suppose that is a spawn of Octavia for you.") Fiona mused internally, watching Mikoto's blank yet oddly entranced expression. ("I only taught him the basics, and he's already conjuring an elemental construct without any formal structure. Most impressive... however.")
Her eyes sharpened as she observed him more closely.
Something was... off.
"I can't feel your mana," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Mikoto, however, did not hear her.
He was completely immersed in the sensation of power.
For the first time in his life, he felt strong. Not just in a metaphorical sense, but genuinely powerful.
He had just created water with a thought.
If he could do this... what else could he accomplish?
What limits did he have?
How far could he push this power?
How much more could he take?
How—
"Say, Mikoto, how old are you?" Fiona's voice suddenly cut through his spiraling thoughts.
"Fifteen. Why?"
The sphere of water in his palm trembled slightly—then began to shrink, condensing in on itself until it all but erased itself from existence.
Fiona tilted her head, her expression unreadable.
"Hmm... A year off from the phase." She mused aloud, tapping her chin.
Mikoto blinked.
"The what now?"
"It's nothing. Do not worry."
"Right..."
That was not a convincing dismissal.
And judging from the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, she knew it wasn't convincing either.
"Well, on with the lesson, I suppose," she said with an almost too casual air, shifting in her seat as if they hadn't just glossed over a very suspicious topic.
Mikoto eyed her warily.
"You sure? It's getting kinda late." He glanced toward the window, where the once-vibrant twilight had long since faded into the pitch-black veil of night.
Fiona simply smiled.
A very unsettling smile.
"We have all the time in the world, Mikoto."
There was something about the way she said that that made him uneasy.
His gut told him tonight was going to be a very long night.