Against a soft golden sky, the tall silhouettes of trees sway gently in the wind. In a forest clearing, a different one than where the demon hound was killed years ago, Ross stands, sweat clinging to his brow as he concentrates on the flicker of pale blue light dancing in his palm.
Exhaling through clenched teeth, his hands tremble as he attempts to complete the spell. At his feet, a thin ring of frost expands, before melting almost immediately. Another failure.
From a nearby stump, Marcus calls out. "Steady your breathing." His arms are crossed as he scolds the boy once again. "You'll never succeed without steady breathing."
Grunting, Ross tries again. Taking a slow deep breath, he lets his mana collect in his hands. The feeling of its flow reminds him of a gentle tide, coming and going despite his best efforts to keep it in place. Although he knew how to use magic, his body couldn't keep up with the effort of channeling his mana.
Once again, he attempts to cast the spell, slowly letting the air out of his lungs. This time, the frost at his feet spreads a bit farther but still melts fairly quickly.
Marcus's sharp tongue speaks a reminder that Ross didn't need, "You're not a kraken anymore, boy. If you continue trying to use magic in the same way you did then, you will destroy your body. Don't force your mana into a spell, let it flow naturally."
Annoyed, Ross drops his hands to his sides. "I know that already. But it's not working."
"Patience, boy. Most mages take years to learn how to manipulate their mana effectively. Your memories from your past life are hindering your ability to learn how humans use magic."
Looking down, Ross groans at the prospect of having to spend years learning how to do something he could do since the moment he was born in his previous life. For someone with as many memories as he had, a few years was but the blink of an eye, but he felt vulnerable knowing that he couldn't do something he thought very little of in his past.
Trying again, Ross channels his mana into his hands again. In his annoyance, he doesn't pay attention to the feel of his mana and somehow ends up shooting an icicle out of his palm.
Frozen, he stares dumbfounded at Marcus, who is now leaning awkwardly to the side. After all, an unexpected icicle just flew at his face, leaving him very little time to react.
"Uhhh…sorry," Ross mutters glancing away in embarrassment.
"Do that again," Marcus says abruptly, his gaze serious.
Ross frowns, attempting to remember how he did it. He regrets not focusing. "Uhm, I'm not sure how I did it…I wasn't paying attention."
Marcus sighs, stroking his beard. "You're lucky you didn't freeze your hand off. Using magic without focus is a dangerous game."
Shuffling his feet, Ross doesn't say anything in response.
"Let's take a break for lunch." Standing up, Marcus motions for Ross to follow him back to the village. "It's obvious you're not going to make any progress at this rate."
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Five years have passed since his father had left for the capital.
He could still remember how his father had knelt in front of him, promising he would come back as soon. He swore he would make the king listen. And, based on the fact that Ross and his mother have been left alone since, it seems he had.
However, his father had not returned. An increase in demon activity in nearby kingdoms led to the king ordering him to remain in the capital, and to rejoin the knights.
Ross's mother repeatedly told Ross the story of how his father had once defeated a demon general with only a sword. Not with magic. Not with divine assistance. But with a stubborn will and overwhelming skill with a blade.
When the court found out, he was given the rank of an Arc Knight, which is typically reserved for nobles or someone exceptionally skilled. Enough for his father to hold a certain amount of respect within the royal court.
Ross wasn't surprised by this. A human capable of killing a demon general without the use of magic is rare.
Every week, Ross received a new letter sealed with red wax from his father. Every one of them had been read repeatedly to the point where the corners and edges were worn to a fuzz.
But despite the stories and the status, Ross wants his father to keep his promise and come home.
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Looking up from the pot she is stirring, Elenor smiles while her eyes quickly scan her son, looking for bruises or burns.
Seeing none, she places a kiss on the top of his head and takes a moment to tease him gently. "You smell like frost and failure."
"Magic's stupid," Ross grumbles as he sinks into a chair.
Elenor chuckles as she laddles some soup into a bowl. "You thought that about walking too, I recall. For two months after the first time you walked, you were tripping over everything, including air."
Ross glowers, not bothering to reply.
"Come, fill your belly with something warm. Staying mad at the world won't change anything. In fact, it burns more energy than magic."
After a few moments of silence where they both eat the stew, Ross quietly asks, "Will Dad come home soon?"
Elenor hesitates in answering. She blinks, and Ross sees it.
"He's trying," she begins carefully. She misses Devon too but is careful not to let Ross see her worry. "And we'll be here when he comes back to us."
Elenor sees Ross grip his spoon tighter. He's looking at his bowl, refusing to look up at her.
Instead of pushing him to talk, since she knows better, she returns to the fire. Speaking over her shoulder, she says, "The sky is clear tonight. Might be a good evening to watch the road. When you're done eating, that is."
Ross silently finishes his stew. Leaving the bowl, he slips out the door, giving his mother a weak smile.