The dim light of the moon filtered softly through the curtains in Micheal's room. His breathing was steady as he lay unconscious, his face pale but peaceful. Around him, his family kept vigil. Ethan was slouched in a chair near the window, his arms crossed as he dozed lightly. Adrian was sprawled awkwardly on the floor with a blanket half-covering him, his brow furrowed even in sleep. Duchess Eleanor sat upright in a nearby armchair, her posture rigid despite the late hour, her hand clasped tightly around Micheal's limp one. Barnaby had returned, quietly stationed near the doorway, his watchful eyes fixed on the scene.
In Micheal's Dream
Micheal found himself floating in an endless sea, its surface shimmering faintly under an ethereal light. The vast expanse stretched endlessly in all directions, its stillness unnerving. He tried to move, to find an edge or escape, but the sea seemed infinite, holding him in place.
As he struggled, he felt himself falling. Panic surged as he reached out, his hand breaking the water's surface. "Help!" he called, his voice echoing across the void.
A small hand clasped his, pulling him up with surprising strength. Micheal blinked, finding himself face to face with a young girl. She had striking crimson eyes and long, wavy black hair braided neatly down her back.
"Are you a god?" she asked, her voice filled with innocent wonder. "You're so pretty. I've only seen pictures of gods, and they have long silver hair and blue eyes like you."
Micheal couldn't help but chuckle, her words tugging at something deep within him. "No, I'm not a god. But you remind me of someone very precious to me."
The girl tilted her head curiously. "Someone precious? Who?"
He smiled softly. "She's my wife. She's strong—much stronger than me."
The girl's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "What makes her strong?"
"She can cast twelve spells at the same time," Micheal said, his tone filled with pride. "She's brilliant and determined."
The child straightened, her small chest puffed out. "I can do that too!" she declared confidently.
Micheal raised an eyebrow, amused. "Really? Can you also invent complex rune patterns?"
"Of course!" she replied, folding her arms. "And I can maintain barriers without breaking a sweat!"
Micheal laughed softly. "Impressive, but can you dedicate yourself to magic research for days without rest?"
"I already do that!" she countered, her tone triumphant. "My father says I'm the best researcher for my age."
He sighed, shaking his head in mock defeat. "Alright, you win. Both you and my precious person are strong. I'm the weak one."
The girl's expression softened. "You're not weak. My father says true strength comes from within. It's greater than any spell or blade."
Micheal looked at her thoughtfully. "Your father sounds wise. Maybe he's right."
The girl nodded eagerly. "He is. He says everyone has their own dreams, and if you work hard on them, that's what makes you strong."
Micheal pondered her words, a faint sense of resolve stirring within him. "Maybe we should both work hard on our dreams, then."
She smiled brightly. "Yes! You work on yours, and I'll work on mine!"
Suddenly, the child paused, tilting her head as if listening to something distant. "I have to go now," she said. "My father is calling me."
Micheal blinked, his chest tightening. "Wait—what's your name?"
The girl turned back, her crimson eyes glimmering. "Magda Valoria," she said with a small curtsy. "Firstborn of Raphael Valoria, Archmage of the Empire and Master of Space Manipulation."
Micheal's breath caught, shock rippling through him as the girl's form began to fade. "Magda?" he whispered.
She smiled one last time. "Goodbye, mister. Maybe we'll meet again."
Back in the Real World
Micheal's eyes shot open, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. The room around him blurred momentarily before coming into focus. Ethan, Adrian, Eleanor, and Barnaby were by his bedside, their faces etched with varying degrees of worry.
"He's awake," Eleanor whispered, relief flooding her tone.
"What happened?" Micheal rasped, his throat dry, his voice hoarse.
The estate's doctor stepped closer, his expression grim but composed. "You had a severe reaction in your sleep. Your heart nearly stopped. It gave us all quite the scare."
Adrian leaned forward, his hand gripping Micheal's shoulder firmly. "You gave us quite the scare. Do you always have to be this dramatic, little brother?"
Ethan, his usually stoic face betraying a hint of vulnerability, added, "We thought we lost you."
Micheal, determined to ease their concern, pushed himself up slightly, wincing at the effort but managing to sit up. "I'm fine now," he said, his voice steadier. "See? There's no need to worry. Go rest. All of you."
Eleanor's brows furrowed. "Micheal, you're not fine. You just—"
"Mother," Micheal interrupted gently, his blue eyes meeting hers. "You've been here all night. Please, get some rest. I promise I'll be here in the morning."
The doctor, still standing nearby, gave a hesitant nod. "With that said, I'd like to examine him one last time to be certain."
Eleanor reluctantly agreed, rising from her chair. Adrian grumbled, "Fine, but only if you don't pull this stunt again."
One by one, his family left the room, casting lingering glances as they departed. Barnaby, however, remained, his arms crossed as he watched Micheal with a mixture of sternness and worry.
"You gave me quite the trauma today, Master Micheal," Barnaby said, his tone half-scolding. "I left the battlefield for a reason, and I can't bear to watch you suffer like this."
Micheal offered a faint smile, his voice soft but steady. "I'm sorry, Barnaby. I didn't mean to worry you. But I'm here, and I'll be okay."
Barnaby's gaze softened, though the tension in his posture remained. "You'd better be. I'm not as young as I used to be, and my heart can't take another scare like this."
Micheal chuckled lightly, his amusement cutting through the heavy atmosphere. "I'll do my best to keep the drama to a minimum, I promise."
Satisfied for the moment, Barnaby gave a small nod before retreating to his usual place by the door, ever-watchful.
Location: Shelb Estate – Dawn
The first rays of sunlight spilled through the window, casting a warm golden hue across Micheal's room. Seated by the window, Micheal watched as the world outside slowly stirred to life. The soft rustling of leaves and the faint chirping of birds filled the air, breaking the stillness of the estate. For days, his gaze had been distant, haunted by memories of Magda and the faces of his fallen comrades. But now, something had shifted. For the first time, there was a flicker of determination in his blue eyes.
Micheal leaned forward slightly, his long platinum blonde hair catching the sunlight as he rested his chin on his hand. He thought of the dream—of the child Magda, her bright, curious eyes, and the quiet wisdom in her words. Her voice echoed in his mind: "True strength comes from within."
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of the sun settle over him. When he opened them again, there was a new resolve in his expression. "I'll wait for you, Magda," he whispered softly, his voice carrying both longing and hope. "And when you come back, I'll make sure I'm worthy of you."
Later That Morning
Barnaby entered the room with a tray of tea and fresh bread, his movements practiced and efficient. He paused when he saw Micheal already dressed, leaning on his good leg as he worked to adjust his sling.
"Master Micheal," Barnaby began, his tone both surprised and cautious. "What exactly are you doing?"
Micheal glanced up, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I'm going to the Imperial Capital, Barnaby."
Barnaby's brows furrowed. "To the Capital? In your condition?"
Micheal nodded, his voice steady. "I've waited long enough. It's time I met the Emperor. I need to see Magda myself."
The door opened, and Duchess Eleanor entered, her expression a mixture of concern and disbelief. "Micheal," she said firmly, "you can barely walk. You're not going anywhere until you're fully healed."
"I have one good hand and one good leg," Micheal replied with a calm defiance that caught both Barnaby and the Duchess off guard. "That's all I need."
Eleanor's eyes softened, though worry still clouded her features. "Micheal, please. You've just recovered. Give yourself time."
Micheal shook his head, his determination unwavering. "Every moment I wait, I lose more of myself. This isn't just about me—I need to do this, Mother."
Barnaby sighed, setting the tray down and stepping closer. "If you insist on going, Master Micheal, then at least let us prepare properly. No rushing into this half-baked."
Micheal smiled faintly. "I'll take your help, Barnaby. But I'm going."
Eleanor hesitated, her hands wringing slightly before she stepped forward and cupped Micheal's face. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you'll come back."
Micheal placed his hand over hers, his voice soft but firm. "I promise."
As the Sun Rises Higher
By the time the estate began to stir, preparations were already well underway. Barnaby worked meticulously in the workshop, customizing his horseless carriage to accommodate Micheal's current condition. He added features to increase comfort and accessibility, ensuring the journey to the capital would be as smooth as possible. Meanwhile, Duchess Eleanor oversaw the packing of supplies, her every action laced with care and precision.
The travel date had been fixed for a week later, a looming deadline that carried both anticipation and anxiety. Despite their lingering concerns, there was a quiet sense of hope in the air. Micheal's determination had sparked something in them all—a belief that perhaps, against all odds, things could change.
Standing at the estate's entrance, Micheal looked out at the path ahead. The sun was higher now, its warmth steady against the cool morning breeze. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Micheal took a deep breath and stepped forward, his resolve carrying him toward the future.
Location: Shared Domain
The shared domain glowed with its usual ethereal light, a sanctuary crafted from Raphael's power and Magda's essence. Endless fields stretched into a golden horizon, pulsing gently as though alive. Magda, now a pre-teen exuding quiet confidence, sat cross-legged on the soft grass. Her crimson eyes glimmered with determination as she practiced intricate spell patterns. Gone was the hesitant child Raphael had first encountered—here sat someone steadily embracing her potential.
"Good," Raphael said, his deep voice breaking the tranquil silence. His sharp crimson gaze softened as he observed her. "Your control has improved greatly. You're advancing faster than I anticipated."
Magda looked up at him, a small, satisfied smile lighting her face. "Thank you, Papa. I think I've figured out how to cast without overextending."
Raphael nodded approvingly, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You're becoming stronger every day. Soon, you'll surpass even the Empire's greatest mages."
The shared space brightened subtly, its vibrancy reflecting Magda's growth and healing. She hesitated for a moment before tilting her head thoughtfully. "Papa," she began, her voice tinged with curiosity, "I met someone."
Raphael's brows lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. "Someone? Who?"
Her cheeks flushed faintly, a rare display of self-consciousness. "A tall, handsome young man with beautiful blue eyes and long, shiny hair like the gods in the pictures. He looked like he was crying."
Raphael's composed expression remained, though his mind raced with possibilities. "You met him here?"
Magda shook her head, the braids in her dark hair swaying slightly. "No, it was a different place—a black space. The ground was water, and it rippled when we walked. He was kind but… sad."
Raphael's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but his tone stayed measured. "And how did you come to this place?"
"I don't know," Magda admitted, her gaze turning inward. "I heard someone calling me, and I followed the voice. That's when I found him."
The pulse of the shared domain faltered momentarily, though Raphael's face betrayed nothing. A breach in the shared space was no trivial matter. For someone to connect with Magda's soul, intentionally or not, suggested a vulnerability he had not anticipated.
Kneeling beside her, he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "For now, focus on your training. Growing stronger is your most important task."
Magda nodded, though her eyes still glimmered with curiosity. "Will I see him again?"
Raphael hesitated for a heartbeat before answering, his voice calm but firm. "Perhaps, when you're older. For now, leave this to me."
Magda's gaze lingered on him briefly before she returned her attention to the spell before her. Raphael straightened, his thoughts already turning to action. This breach could not be ignored, and there was only one person who might provide the answers he sought—the reclusive time-mage of the Eastern Isles. If Micheal von Shelb had somehow contacted Magda, Raphael needed to understand how and why.
He glanced down at Magda, her small figure glowing faintly as she concentrated. A faint smile touched his lips, a rare moment of softness breaking through his calculated demeanor. "Soon, my little one," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. "Soon you'll return."