The air inside the room was still — warm with the faint scent of parchnt and dicine. Nicolas sat by the window, the sunlight painting golden lines across his shoulders. He looked older than Noel rembered, the sharpness in his eyes dulled slightly, but the quiet strength was still there.
Noel stood a few steps behind him, unsure if he should speak first. Charlotte lingered beside him, hands clasped in front of her, her usual brightness dimd by the weight of the mont.
Nicolas’s voice broke the silence before either could speak. "You really missed it, huh?" Noel said softly.
The older man chuckled under his breath. "I built that place to last," he replied without turning, his gaze fixed on the academy’s towers in the far distance. "But so things you can’t teach in classrooms."
Charlotte stepped forward, her voice gentle. "You taught more than you think, Sir Nicolas."
He smiled faintly at that. "Maybe. Or maybe I just managed to leave behind a few stubborn ones who refused to give up." His eyes flicked briefly toward Noel, amusent ghosting across his tired features.
Noel rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m guessing that’s your way of saying thanks?"
"Sothing like that." Nicolas leaned back slightly, a small sigh escaping him. "But I didn’t call you here to talk about my legacy. There’s sothing else — sothing that needs to be said."
Charlotte glanced between them, sensing the shift in tone. "Should I give you both a mont?"
Nicolas nodded. "If you don’t mind, Saintess. There are words ant for old n and foolish students only."
Charlotte smiled faintly, though her eyes softened with concern. "Then I’ll wait outside. Don’t take too long, okay?"
Noel t her gaze and nodded. "I won’t."
When the door closed behind her, the silence returned — heavier now. The golden light dimd slightly as the sun dipped behind a cloud, leaving a faint chill in the room.
Nicolas gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit, Noel. We’ve danced around the truth long enough."
Noel obeyed, lowering himself into the seat. The chair creaked faintly beneath him.
The older man studied him for a long mont, eyes searching. "You’ve changed. There’s sothing behind your eyes now — like you’re carrying more than one lifeti in there."
Noel looked down, his voice quiet. "Maybe I am."
Nicolas gave a knowing nod. "Then tell . Whatever it is that’s been haunting you — I’ll listen."
Noel exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest tightening. He had prepared for this mont a hundred tis, but now that it was here, the words felt impossibly heavy. Still, he t Nicolas’s gaze and said quietly—
"There’s sothing you should know about ."
Noel sat back in the chair, fingers laced together as he stared at the floor for a mont — trying to find the right words. Nicolas waited patiently, his expression calm but attentive, as if listening to a confession rather than a story.
"I’m not from this world," Noel said finally. The words ca out steadier than he expected. "I was born sowhere else. A place called Earth."
Nicolas didn’t speak, only tilted his head slightly. His silence felt encouraging — not judgntal.
"It’s... a world without mana," Noel continued. "No magic, no beasts, no noble families or empires. Just people — living, dying, trying to make things work with what they have."
He smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching as mories stirred. "We used machines powered by sothing called electricity. We could light entire cities, fly across the sky, talk to anyone in the world through small devices we carried in our pockets. It sounds like magic, but it was just... technology."
Nicolas’s eyes lit up with quiet fascination. "So your people found a way to do what we do — without mana?"
"Yeah," Noel said, leaning forward slightly. "We built things called planes to cross continents, ships that didn’t need wind, and machines that could think faster than humans. But even then, we never stopped fighting each other. Guess so things don’t change."
Nicolas chuckled softly. "It seems conflict is the one true constant — in every world."
Noel nodded. "Probably." He looked up, eting the older man’s eyes. "You’re... not surprised, are you?"
The old mage shook his head slowly, amusent flickering behind his tired gaze. "No. Magic is limitless, Noel. It bends to imagination — and imagination has no walls. If soone can dream of another world, then perhaps it already exists sowhere. If soone can dream of a soul returning from one, then perhaps that too is real."
Noel blinked, half smiling. "That sounded surprisingly poetic coming from you."
Nicolas smirked faintly. "Age makes philosophers of us all."
Both of them laughed quietly — not the laughter of joy, but of mutual understanding, of two souls briefly sharing the sa impossible horizon.
When the laughter faded, Noel’s voice softened. "It’s strange... talking about it now. I used to think I’d never be able to tell anyone."
Nicolas’s gaze turned kind, almost fatherly. "And now that you have?"
Noel looked toward the window where the light began to shift into gold again. "Now it doesn’t feel like I’m carrying it alone anymore."
Nicolas smiled at that, a slow, genuine curve of his lips. "Good. Then perhaps this old teacher still has a purpose left after all."
The warmth between them faded into a quieter stillness.
Nicolas turned his gaze back toward the window, the sunset bleeding into shades of amber and violet across the sky. The light made his features look softer, almost fragile.
He exhaled slowly. "You know, it’s strange," he said at last. "When I first lost my mana core, I thought I’d just... adapt. Train the mind, not the magic. But the body doesn’t forget what it’s lost."
Noel frowned slightly, his instinctive alertness returning. "What do you an?"
Nicolas’s lips curved into a faint, tired smile. "It ans, my boy, that this body’s breaking down. The healers say I might have a year left—if I rest, eat properly, and don’t try to be a hero again."
The words landed like stones.
Noel froze, his voice caught halfway between disbelief and anger. "What are you talking about? There must be—sothing. A way to extend it—"
"There isn’t." Nicolas cut him off gently. "Mana isn’t just power. It’s life. Without it, the body starts to fail — slowly, quietly, but inevitably."
Noel stared at him, jaw clenched. "You can’t just say that like it’s nothing."
The old mage’s expression softened, but there was no fear in his eyes — only acceptance. "I’ve lived a long ti, Noel. Longer than most n get to. I built sothing that will outlast , and I’ve seen students like you rise higher than I ever could."
Noel’s throat tightened. "That’s not the point."
"Then what is?" Nicolas asked calmly. "That I should cling to life because it makes you feel better?"
Noel flinched at the words — not from cruelty, but from truth.
The silence stretched again until Nicolas sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Listen. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t even try asking the Saintess for a blessing. I won’t allow it."
Noel’s head snapped up. "You don’t get to decide that."
"I do," Nicolas said firmly. "You know the price she pays for every miracle she gives. Would you really ask her to shorten her own life just to extend mine?"
Noel’s breath faltered. He looked down, fists clenching on his knees. "...No."
Nicolas’s tone softened again. "Good. Because that girl will need her strength for what’s coming — for all of you."
The firelight caught in the faint lines of his face, making him look older still, but his voice carried no weakness. "I’ve made my peace with this. I just wanted you to know before it happens. Before I... disappear quietly and everyone wonders why."
Noel looked up slowly, his eyes darker than before. "You’re not allowed to ’disappear quietly.’ Not after everything you’ve done."
Nicolas smiled faintly. "That’s not up to anymore. But thank you."
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy — filled with the unspoken bond of respect between student and teacher.
Then Nicolas’s tone lightened slightly. "Besides, dying gives an excuse to stop grading essays. There’s rcy in that, at least."
Despite himself, Noel let out a small, uneven laugh. "That’s one way to look at it."
"Exactly," Nicolas said, his grin soft but real. "No point in facing the end without a bit of humor."
The fire crackled softly, its glow washing over the room in amber tones. Noel spoke for what felt like an eternity — his voice low, steady, yet heavy with things he had carried too long.
He told Nicolas everything.
About Noctis, the forgotten brother who had created the cycle to stop Elarin, the god who had once been good but fell into madness.
About the loops — how every ti the world reached its breaking point, it would begin again, reborn through another soul from another world.
About how he, Noel, was just one of those souls — a stranger wearing the life of soone else, trying to end what thousands before him could not.
When he finally stopped, the silence that followed was absolute. Only the soft hiss of the fireplace filled the room.
Nicolas sat still for a long while, his hand resting against the armrest of his chair. The firelight reflected in his tired eyes, but there was no disbelief — only quiet reflection.
"So..." he said at last, his voice calm. "You’re not the sa Noel who was born here."
Noel shook his head. "No. I carry his na, his body, but not his mories. Every ti the world resets, soone different takes his place. None of us rember the ones before."
Nicolas leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the wood. "And this has happened... more than once?"
"Thousands of tis," Noel said quietly. "Each ti, soone else is brought here. Another version of Noel Thorne. Another life sacrificed to the sa story."
The old mage gave a slow, almost solemn nod. "So you’re all just... different souls, sa stage."
"Exactly." Noel looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if the truth burned. "I’m not special, Nicolas. I’m just the next one trying not to fail."
For a mont, Nicolas said nothing. Then, with a faint smile, he murmured, "It’s funny. All my life I believed the world was shaped by talent and will. But what you’re describing... that’s sothing closer to fate."
"Fate’s cruel," Noel muttered.
"It always is," Nicolas agreed softly. He shifted slightly, wincing at the effort, and nodded toward the cabinet beside his chair. "Can you open that drawer for ?"
Noel stood and crossed the short distance. Inside, he found a single sealed envelope, the wax stamped with Nicolas’s insignia — a burning quill over an open book. His na was written neatly on the front.
"That’s for you," Nicolas said, his voice quieter now. "I wrote it before Tharvaldur. There’s a key inside too — to sothing I kept locked for a reason. Take it, when you’re ready. Use it for what truly matters, not for what you want."
Noel turned the envelope over in his hands, hesitant. "Why are you giving this?"
The old man smiled faintly. "Because I’m running out of ti to be your ntor, helper, director, call it whatever."
Noel let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Then you should keep it," he said, trying to sound lighter than he felt. "You need it more than I do."
Nicolas chuckled softly — a dry, genuine sound that filled the silence. "You’re wrong about that. I’ve already used everything I had to give. What’s left belongs to you now."
Noel stared at the envelope again, the wax seal catching the firelight. "...You really don’t make this easy, old man."
"I never did," Nicolas said, smiling faintly. Then his tone softened. "Take it, Noel. You’ll need it more than you think."
For a mont, neither spoke. The crackling of the fire filled the room again, warm but uncomfortably final. Noel finally reached out and slipped the envelope into his coat pocket, nodding once — not out of agreent, but respect.
Nicolas leaned back, eyes drifting toward the window. "Good. Then maybe now I can rest a little easier, knowing my best student will still make a ss of things."
Noel huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "You really know how to ruin a mont."
"That’s part of teaching too," Nicolas murmured, his eyes half-closing. "Now go — before this starts sounding sentintal."
Noel turned toward the door, taking a few slow steps before stopping. He glanced back over his shoulder, a faint, crooked smile tugging at his lips.
"Don’t die before I co back," he said quietly. "I still have to tell you how it all ends."
Nicolas’s laugh was soft — tired, but warm. "Then I suppose I’ll have to wait."
Reviews
All reviews (0)