The day before, I had managed to cast my first spell. A small feat, perhaps... but for me, it felt like touching the sky with my fingertips. The excitement continued to pound in my chest, impossible to hide. I suppose it must have been strange for Mom and Dad to see me so excited for no apparent reason, but they didn't ask any questions.
That, somehow, made me even more suspicious.
Since the infamous pig's foot incident, they had been much more attentive to my mood swings, my mischief, and my silences. Perhaps this time they were waiting for me to choose to confide in them of my own accord.
If they did ask, I already had a plan: I would say that I was eager to get back to training with Uncle Leo. It was a half-truth, a way to protect the surprise that, when the time came, I would proudly reveal to them.
And as if my thoughts had summoned fate, this morning Dad intercepted me just as I was about to leave.
"Drake," he called, in that voice that always seemed to contain a smile. "Would you like us to teach you some fencing while Leo is back in town?"
I stopped, hiding the nerves that ran through my body.
"No, Dad, I'm fine," I replied with the best composure I could muster. "I'll be patient and wait for his return. I've already waited five years... a few more days won't make a difference."
Dad looked at me silently, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to see beyond my words. I held his gaze, determined not to give in... but then I felt something else.
A chill, a tension in the air.
I discreetly moved my eyes to the side, and there I saw her: Mom, standing in the kitchen doorway, frowning and arms crossed, watching our every move like a hawk. Now it wasn't just a simple exchange of glances between father and son. It was a three-way duel, a silent war where I was the battlefield.
Time seemed to stand still. No one moved. No one spoke.
Finally, it was Dad who broke the tension.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he said, as if he had really remembered something.
He approached Mom and planted a light kiss on her cheek, then leaned down to kiss Thomas's forehead as he played on the floor and whispered something I couldn't hear.
"See you later, I love you!" he shouted as he opened the door and walked away into the morning light.
Mom responded immediately, her voice echoing like a raised shield: "We love you too!"
And there we stood, she and I, looking at each other like two duelists who don't let their guard down even after the bell rings.
I decided to act with the oldest strategy in the world: retreat.
I turned slowly toward the exit, forcing a trembling smile, like a prisoner trying to appear harmless to his jailer.
Mom didn't say a word. She didn't need to.
Her frown accompanied me until I walked through the door... and so ended that little silent duel. A duel that, under other circumstances, could have cost much more than a few glances.
***
I remained focused on the twenty-step exercise with the water sphere floating between my hands. Although I no longer felt the same exhaustion as at the beginning, each attempt ended the same way: the sphere collapsed before even reaching the tenth step.
What am I missing? What detail am I overlooking that would allow me to complete the ten steps without breaking my concentration?
"I sense you're frustrated, Drake," said Ravenscroft, his tone calm but attentive, as if he had been watching each attempt without intervening. "What are you thinking about?"
"The ninth step," I replied, not hiding my irritation.
"And why that one in particular?"
"I feel like I'm missing something... as if there's a piece of the puzzle I can't see. A subtle mistake. But real."
"Instead of looking for what's missing," he suggested with a hint of mischief, "why don't you try looking for another way?"
I fell silent, pondering his words. "Another way? I could try reducing the size of the sphere... but that would require even more precision. Making it bigger would only consume more mana and be unsustainable..."
John smiled slightly. His eyes shone with quiet pride. He knew he didn't need to give me the answer; he just had to push me to find it myself.
"What if... I divide it?" I muttered. "Split it in two... Maybe that will give me more control."
I didn't think twice. I dissolved the original sphere and gathered mana in both hands. I felt it draining faster, but not in the same way as before. There was something different, something more stable... though more demanding.
It's a risk. But it's worth it.
I created two smaller spheres. Although the effort was greater, I was surprised not to feel at my limit after the first few steps. I moved forward cautiously. One. Two. Three. The tension in my body increased with each step, but I was still holding on. Four. Five. My legs were getting heavier, as if each movement required more determination, but they didn't give up.
I know this isn't free. Something will take its toll on me for this effort. But I want to find out how far I can go.
When I reached the eighth step, I felt I had reached my limit. I took a deep breath. Sweat was running down my forehead. I moved forward cautiously... and I made it. The ninth step was behind me. I barely had time to celebrate when I pushed myself to the tenth.
Then my legs gave way. I fell to my knees, panting heavily. The ground was cold, but my body was burning. My heart was pounding in my chest as if it wanted to escape.
Is this the price... for using magic in both hands?
"Congratulations, Drake," I heard John's voice, calm but genuinely satisfied. "You've taken ten steps. How does it feel to have achieved this?"
"Surprised... and completely exhausted," I said between gasps, without raising my head.
"Tell me, do you think you chose the easy way or the hard way?"
"I don't know..." I murmured, still struggling to catch my breath. "I just know it worked."
"And that's what matters," he nodded approvingly. "You took the more complex route... but also the most rewarding one. That, ironically, is the true essence of magic: observing, analyzing, adapting... creating."
He approached me, a calm seriousness in his voice.
"Drake, someday, if you set your mind to it, you won't just repeat spells... you'll create them. Because with discipline, clarity of mind, and a surprising imagination, the only limit will be the sky."
***
I was about to leave, as usual, for my training. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, and the cool morning breeze caressed my face. However, before I could walk out the door, my mother's voice stopped me.
"Drake..." Her tone was soft but laden with suspicion. "You've been away from home a lot lately. Is there anything you want to say about that?"
Her gaze was inquisitive, as if she already suspected the truth. A chill ran down my spine.
I can't keep hiding it... I knew that sooner or later they would find out. There was no escape now.
"It was..." I hesitated, searching for the right words, "a surprise for you and Dad."
Mom frowned, her face reflecting a mixture of disbelief and distrust.
"You're not thinking of playing another one of your pranks, are you?" she asked, in that tone that made my stomach shrink.
"No, no..." I denied immediately, trying to calm her suspicions. "It's nothing like that, I promise."
I swallowed hard. My throat was dry and my heart was pounding. If Mom found out the truth... what would she think? What would she and Dad do?
Relief softened her features, but her curiosity did not disappear.
"Then..." Her gaze fixed on me. "What is it?"
I swallowed once more. The moment had come.
"I'm learning magic and fencing."
The silence that followed seemed eternal. Her expression changed from surprise to concern.
"Magic...?" she whispered, as if afraid to say the word. "Who's teaching you? Is it... Leo? Is he back in town?"
"No." I shook my head. "It's not Uncle Leo."
"Then...?"
"My teacher is John Ravenscroft."
The name seemed to float in the air, leaving a palpable uneasiness. Mom blinked, trying to remember if that name meant anything to her... but she couldn't think of anything.
"Drake...?" Her voice dropped a little, almost cautiously. "Would it be a problem if your father and I met that person?"
The change in her tone put me on alert. She didn't say "Dad," she said "father." That formality only appeared when she was suspicious... and now, she was doubting my teacher.
"Of course not, Mom." I forced a smile. "How about I invite him to dinner with us one of these days?"
"That sounds... perfect." Although she agreed, her gaze remained clouded with uncertainty.
***
I headed to my training session with my heart still a little agitated. The conversation with Mom lingered in my mind, but I tried to shake it off as I crossed the field toward the clearing where I usually practiced.
When I met Ravenscroft, I greeted him with a slight bow, as he had taught me, and without thinking too much about it, I blurted out the question I had been repeating to myself since I left home.
"Master... my mom wanted to know if you'd like to come to dinner with us one of these days."
His expression froze for a moment. It wasn't fear... but a kind of silent calculation, as if a thousand possible scenarios were already unfolding in his mind.
"Sure... why not?" he replied with a smile that took a little longer than usual to reach his lips. "Tell her two days from now would be fine. That way I'll have time to... prepare properly."
Prepare? I frowned. It's just dinner... isn't it?
"Perfect," I said, although I couldn't help feeling that his answer hid more than he was willing to say. "I'll tell Mom."
He nodded and, after a brief silence, resumed his stance. But for the rest of the training session, I couldn't help noticing how his movements, although as precise as ever, were charged with a certain tension. As if, deep down, he too knew that this dinner would be much more than just a simple family gathering.
***
The long-awaited day arrived.
Dinner with my teacher and my family. Everything was ready: the table carefully decorated, the aromas filling the house, the chairs waiting for occupants as if they knew that this night would be unlike any other. Only he was missing.
"Knock, knock."
The knuckles against the wood sounded louder than they should have. Or maybe it was my imagination. Mom was the first to react, beating Dad to it with the composure of someone who knows that first impressions can make all the difference.
"Good evening, ma'am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am John Ravenscroft, your son's teacher. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine. I'm Angie, Drake's mother," Mom replied with a friendly smile, though her eyes were still carefully assessing him.
Dad appeared immediately beside her, as if he didn't want to leave her alone with this enigmatic man.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ravenscroft. I'm Ethan, Drake's father," he said, shaking his hand firmly. His tone was cordial, but his gaze was inquisitive. It was as if every word the teacher uttered was passing through an invisible filter.
"Thank you for having me. I truly appreciate this invitation," John replied calmly. "It is an honor to share a table with such a... unique family."
Then John extended his hands in a ceremonious gesture.
"Allow me to offer a small gift as a token of my respect."
For Mom, a bouquet of yellow roses. Strange color. Did they symbolize something? Friendship, perhaps? Admiration? For Dad, an elegant bottle of dark liquor, the kind that is only opened on special occasions. I made a mental note: When the time comes, I too will learn to introduce myself like this.
We sat down. The smiles were measured, polite. The atmosphere was charged with courtesy... and something else. As if we all knew that this dinner was not just about sharing food. It was a test. A mutual examination. Every gesture, every word, was observed with attention.
For a while, only the sound of cutlery and the crunching of bread could be heard. Until Mom broke the silence naturally, like someone testing the waters before taking the first false step.
"Mr. Ravenscroft, may I ask how old you are?"
"Of course. As of today, I am two hundred and twenty-two years old," he replied without flinching, as if talking about the weather.
Mom raised her eyebrows, amused.
"Take off a couple of centuries, and you'd be very close to our age. Ethan and I are barely twenty-four."
John smiled slightly but genuinely.
"You must be joking. You both certainly look younger than that. I would have guessed eighteen, at most."
I could see that, despite her firm demeanor, Mom blushed slightly. It was a gesture as subtle as it was unexpected. Dad, without missing a beat, spoke up.
"Speaking for both of us, we appreciate it. Although with small children, keeping a fresh appearance is almost a miracle."
"I understand that very well, Mr. Ethan," John replied with a nod.
The conversation flowed more freely after that. And then Dad changed the subject.
"Tell me, Mr. Ravenscroft... are you married?"
"Yes, of course," he replied, in a tone that didn't invite further questions, but without closing himself off completely.
"Forgive me for asking. It's just curiosity." So far, I've met very few elves, and most of them were traveling alone. Many preferred the company of the road to that of a partner.
"I understand," John nodded, with a slight nostalgia in his eyes. "There's something deeply liberating about traveling alone. Deciding for yourself, without having to consider anyone else. But also... there are times when sharing the journey with someone makes it even more valuable.
He paused, as if remembering something.
"Although, yes... I used to enjoy the roads more when I wasn't carrying emotional baggage. I guess we all go through that stage."
Dad let out a short, relaxed laugh.
"Yes... I went through it too. Not so long ago, actually."
The initial tension was no longer so thick. Their faces had softened. Words began to flow without the burden of initial doubts. And I, sitting among them, had only one mission that night: to listen. To learn.
Sitting among them, I understood that this dinner was not just about getting to know each other... it was also about observing. About learning. About understanding how adults play their own games, even though the plates are full of food and the glasses are barely touched.
And just when the atmosphere seemed to reach a certain harmony, a child's cry broke the balance.
It was Thomas.
Mom got up immediately, with the naturalness that only a mother can have.
"Excuse me..." she said with a tired smile as she walked away from the table.
"No need to worry," Ravenscroft replied, his calm voice seeming to envelop the room in calm.
When Mom returned with Thomas in her arms, there was complete silence. But not because of discomfort, but because of surprise: the baby, now in her arms, had stopped crying. He just stared at John with those big eyes that seemed to see more than one would expect.
"This is Thomas, Mr. Ravenscroft," Mom said, rocking the little one tenderly.
John looked at the child with a gentle, almost paternal expression.
"He looks more like you, Miss Angie," he commented. "Whereas Drake... has a lot of Mr. Ethan in his eyes."
"That's true," Dad nodded, with a half-smile.
"Mr. Ravenscroft," Mom interjected, with sincere curiosity, "were you ever an adventurer?"
"For a long time, yes," John replied without boasting. "Now I have a different, quieter job... although I still take on missions from time to time. I don't like to lose my practice."
"And is it as dangerous as they say?" she asked, leaning forward slightly.
John took a moment before answering. "These days... not so much." But the danger never completely disappears. It just changes form.
Mom listened attentively, even as she rocked Thomas. It was clear that she wasn't interested in heroic deeds, but in the kind of life someone like John could lead. Meanwhile, Dad remained silent. He watched. Not just John, but me too. Sometimes he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, as if trying to read my thoughts. Although the atmosphere had become lighter, they were both still alert. As if they knew that behind every kind word, there was still much to discover.
***
The conversations went on. The topic was no longer dangers or missions, but trivialities: weather, recipes, anecdotes that didn't capture my attention. For my age, it was an endless after-dinner conversation.
And my body knew it.
My eyelids were heavy. I nodded off. I tried hard to look interested, but Thomas and I gave up at the same time. Even Mom started yawning quietly, trying to hide it behind her hand.
Only Dad and John seemed immune to fatigue. They talked without pause, as if every word were part of a strategy. There was more closeness, yes... but also a certain resistance. No one was giving in completely. Every gesture was measured, every glance had a double meaning. I wouldn't call it hostility, but rather a dance of mutual caution.
For me, it was enough.
"With your permission... I'm going to retire. I'm dying of sleep," I said, getting up slowly.
"All right, son," Dad replied, without losing his composure.
"See you tomorrow, Drake," Ravenscroft added with a slight nod.
"We're leaving too," Mom said as she held Thomas, who was already fast asleep. "Good night, Mr. Ravenscroft."
"Sleep well, Miss Angie," John replied with impeccable courtesy.
I walked away as the voices faded behind me. I didn't want to hear any more. Not because I didn't care, but because I felt that, as I walked through that door, I was leaving behind a world of adults that didn't yet belong to me. A world that I observed, that surrounded me... and that sooner or later would also call me by my name.
But for now, I just wanted to sleep.