Third Person's POV
"Aurelia? What is she doing here alone?"
Curiosity piqued, Alaric dragged himself to the arbour, his footsteps soft on the grass. He was only a few steps away when Aurelia noticed him, her hand instinctively darting to cover the paper she was writing on. She shot him a brief, startled glance, her fingers twitching to hide her work.
"Something wrong?" Alaric asked, his voice casual but direct.
Aurelia's lips pressed together before she dismissed it with a quick shake of her head. "Nope," she mumbled, glancing away. "Are you done?"
Alaric ignored the awkwardness hanging between them and sat beside her with a soft groan, leaning back as the cool breeze danced through the leaves. "No, I am just resting for a bit," he admitted, his voice heavy with fatigue. His gaze wandered to the trees, already tinged with the first hints of Fall. Nearly a month had passed, but the weight of his slow progress gnawed at him silently.
"So... how come you're not holed up in the library today?" he asked, attempting to divert the conversation and his own thoughts.
Aurelia's eyes narrowed slightly, a glimmer of amusement flickering there as she caught the hint of smugness in his voice. Her lips curved into a smirk. "Miss Xironia thought our delicate little princess might collapse after all that running and never wake up. She and Master decided they'd be more productive if I kept watch. They've got their hands full."
Alaric's brow furrowed. "I'm not 'little'," he muttered, crossing his arms.
Aurelia's smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "So, you are a princess," she quipped back with a smug look.
Alaric clicked his tongue in annoyance, letting his head fall back to escape her gaze. The breeze tousled his hair, cool against his warm skin. He let the silence stretch, a peaceful quiet settling between them, the world softening in the late afternoon sun. For a moment, he closed his eyes, appreciating the calm — and, perhaps, Aurelia's quiet presence that somehow grounded him.
Time slipped by, and eventually, Alaric stretched his legs, feeling some strength return. He stood, ready to resume his task, when something on the table caught his eye.
"Is that... a book about magic circles?" He said in a voice tinged with curiosity while pointing at the large book that was under a few sheets of paper, the intricate diagrams peeking because of the irregular placement of the sheets of paper caught his interest.
Aurelia, who had been gazing off into the distance absentmindedly, jolted. Her hands shot up in a flustered attempt to hide the book. "N-No... well... yes," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally relented with a small, hesitant nod after stammering like a child that was caught red-handed for some mischief he had done.
Alaric leaned in closer, squinting at the intricate symbols on the page, his fingers grazing the edges of the parchment as if that might help decipher its meaning. Aurelia tried to subtly slip the book away from him, but Alaric's curiosity outweighed her discretion. He held his ground, studying the page intently before letting out an exaggerated, dramatic sigh.
Rubbing his chin in an overly thoughtful manner, "I understand," he said and continued, "nothing."
Aurelia deadpanned.
She was taken aback by his bluntness. "Don't you think it's boring?... Or maybe inefficient?" she asked, genuinely puzzled by his interest.
Alaric glanced between her and the book, his confusion deepening. "No? Why would I?" he replied earnestly. "Magic circles are another way to cast spells, right? And they only use a little mana? That sounds way more efficient than chanting."
Aurelia stared at him, her surprise evident. This boy—seven years old—was saying things that even seasoned mages might overlook. His nonchalant attitude toward the complexity of magic circles left her speechless.
Alaric, oblivious to her shock, continued matter-of-factly, "You don't need to remember a whole ass poem to cast a spell. You can have these prepared ahead of time, for whatever you're planning. And the best thing. It can be made anywhere. Father and Mother's bedroom walls have sound barrier magic circles engraved in them too." His eyes flicked back to the diagrams, clearly intrigued by the practicality of it all.
"How do you know about the last bit?"
"Magic circles are cool."
Spells, like skills, are wielded by cultivators. Their origin is shrouded in mystery—no ancient text or master could pinpoint when or how they emerged. It was as if they had simply appeared, woven into the world overnight. Yet, the lack of understanding never stopped people from learning it.
Most spells offer practical use, though a select few stand as rare exceptions—those are deadly weapons, even to seasoned cultivators. The issue lies in their nature. To cast a spell requires reciting an incantation, which in the heat of battle, feels like an eternity. One misstep—a slip of the tongue or muddled phrase—and the spell fizzles out, or worse, it spirals out of control, its effects turning unpredictable and dangerous.
While spells hold value in everyday practice, in critical moments, they're unreliable—until you master them. And there are two ways to do that. One is painfully slow: you train for years, repeating a single spell over and over until the day comes when you no longer need to speak its chant. No one knows when that moment arrives; it just... happens. Or, there's the quicker route: magic circles.
Every spell has a counterpart, an intricate diagram. These magic circles allow the caster to bypass incantations entirely. Few cultivators bother learning them—mostly artificers and weaponsmiths take the time to study their design. But in the right hands, magic circles aren't just a tool—they're a lifeline, more efficient and deadly when time matters most.
"But don't you think I'm wasting my time learning this? As a cultivator and all…" she asked, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the book. It was strange—Alaric had never seen her hesitate like this. She always seemed so sure of herself, so poised. Yet here she was, uncertain.
"Why would I think that?" He looked at her, "Do you like it?" his eyes intently watching Aurelia's movements. Looking down at the book, Aurelia nodded.
"Then do what you like," Alaric shrugged, "It may be a childish belief, but I don't think any individual has the right to judge what others should or shouldn't do. No one in this world should tell you how to live your life. It's yours—live it however you want." he gently took the paper from under Aurelia's hand. She didn't resist, allowing it to slip away as if she hadn't even realized it was gone. Alaric glanced at her, expecting some form of protest, but found none. She stared at him, bewildered, as if he had spoken in a language foreign to her.
Aurelia stared at Alaric as if he were an alien but without a care he continued looking at the distant horizon, "Life is the fleeting breath of a candle, flickering in the vast winds of time. No power, no title, no triumph can shield us from the inevitable night. If each moment we burn is a piece of our soul, a part of our life, why let it dim for the sake of others' shadows? Dance to your own rhythm, Aurelia. Let your flame carve its story, wild and unjudged. For if life is but the art of spending ourselves, let us spend it boldly, in the way that sets us ablaze, in the way we love," A faint smile tugged at the corners of Alaric's lips as his eyes returned to the intricate magic circle on the parchment. He placed the paper back, his fingers touched Aurelia's, lingering for just a moment.
Aurelia had an expression of a completely shaken person, as if someone had taken what she believed was her most beloved thing from her hand and shattered it right in front of her but then, she heard Alaric's voice as he told her, "Enjoy," and started walking away. Aurelia regained her senses, brows dropped lazily, her eyes gleaming with emotions and the soft sunlight while her lips curled up. Before Alaric could walk away or realize what was happening, he found himself enveloped in warmth. A warmth that made all his functions halt in a second.
His face pressed into something soft—so soft, it felt like he had fallen into a pillow made of clouds.
After a snug, almost smothering hug, Aurelia finally released him. Alaric stumbled back, his face flushed a deep crimson, lips twitching as he struggled to regain composure.
"You're a weird kid, Alaric."
"I-I'm not weird!" Alaric sputtered, but his voice cracked halfway through. Desperate to escape, he turned away, his legs ready to bolt—until he felt the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek.
Aurelia's palm was soft, cool against his heated skin, holding him in place with unexpected tenderness.
*Smooch*
For a moment the world felt still but the next, one could see steam coming out of Alaric's head. Thoughts? They ceased to exist as Alaric's brain stopped working. There was no flush, even his eyes went blank, that's how stunned Alaric was.
Without a word, his body took over. He turned and dashed away from the arbour like his life depended on it, feet pounding the ground in retreat.
Behind him, Aurelia chuckled, clearly enjoying his mortified escape.
"Thanks."