The sun was barely over the rooftops of Magnolia when Cael walked into the guild hall again. He moved quietly, notebook in hand, a few loose wires and gears peeking out from the edges of his jacket. He'd picked them up from a junk trader the night before, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Just… instinct.
The guild was quieter in the mornings, which suited him fine. Mira waved from behind the bar, and Cael gave a small nod in return before settling into his usual seat near the window.
He opened his notebook and began sketching. Not machines, not yet—just rough diagrams. Circuit patterns, mana channels, things he remembered from watching Donval work the day before. He didn't understand them fully, but the ideas were there, swirling in his head like smoke trying to take shape.
"Already working?" Mira's voice broke through his thoughts.
He blinked and looked up. She placed a cup of tea beside him and sat across the table.
"Sort of," he said. "It's more like… static. I get an image or a formula, and then it vanishes."
"That's how some of the best magic starts," she replied. "A feeling before it becomes a spell."
He stared at her for a long moment. "How did you figure yours out?"
Mira smiled a little, almost sad. "Time. Experience. A lot of trial and error. My Takeover magic came from... hardship. But it also gave me strength."
"Takeover," he repeated. The word sparked something. His fingers twitched.
She nodded. "It lets you transform using the essence of a creature you've connected with—usually through battle. My form is Satan Soul. Elfman and Lisanna use Beast Soul."
"Transformation through imprinting," Cael muttered, scribbling notes. "Magical coding based on organic data..."
Mira tilted her head. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Talking like a machine."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Later that day, Cael wandered through Magnolia's market square. Stalls were bustling with voices, laughter, and the clink of coins. He wasn't shopping—just watching, analyzing. The gears in his mind never stopped turning.
A pair of kids ran by with a spinning toy that sparked when it turned. Cael crouched and watched it roll for a moment, eyes narrowing at the way it stored kinetic energy.
He pulled a scrap of paper from his coat and began sketching again.
"Some sort of spell focus?" a familiar voice asked behind him.
It was Levy. She had a satchel full of books and an amused look on her face.
"Not exactly," Cael replied. "More like... a mana conduit. If I could stabilize rotational flow with embedded enchantments, maybe I could use movement to amplify minor spells."
Levy blinked. "Wow. That's… actually kind of brilliant."
"It's incomplete," he said. "Just theory."
"Well, if you ever need to bounce ideas off someone, I'm around. I like weird magic stuff."
"Noted."
As she walked away, Cael muttered, "Weird magic stuff is all I have."
That evening, Cael sat in his room above the guild. It was small—just a bed, desk, and a lamp—but quiet. Perfect for thinking.
He pulled out his sketches from the day. Spread them across the desk. He tapped the table absently, staring at the pages.
"Rotational amplification… Takeover magic… pressure-based power response…"
It was like trying to solve a puzzle with pieces from ten different boxes.
But it was also exciting.
He still didn't know what his magic truly was. But he was getting hints. Whispers. A pressure in the back of his skull like a dam about to break.
Then he smelled smoke.
He blinked, looked down. One of the pages had started smoldering faintly. Violet sparks flickered at his fingertips.
"Oops." He grabbed a cup of water and doused it quickly.
He stared at his hand. "Still no control..."
He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"This is going to take a while."
The next morning, Makarov called for him.
"You've got quick feet, boy," the old master said from atop his desk. "But you're still raw. It's time for another mission. Nothing dangerous, just a delivery."
Cael nodded. "Where to?"
"South village—Hargen. A client ordered a custom-made lacrima. You'll be taking it there and collecting payment. Easy work."
"Understood."
The road to Hargen was peaceful, winding through open fields and quiet groves. Cael took his time, eyes scanning the environment. He noticed things others might not—the way the wind shifted when a bird flew overhead, the faint residue of magic on a moss-covered stone.
He delivered the lacrima without issue. The client, a cheerful old woman, insisted he stay for stew. He did. It was awkward.
"Are you always this quiet?" she asked.
Cael considered. "I think too much to talk easily."
"That's not a bad thing. But don't forget to live, too."
"I'm working on it."
When he returned to the guild, Mira greeted him again. She'd made it a habit.
"Welcome back," she said. "Mission go okay?"
"No threats. Payment received. Good stew."
She chuckled. "Glad you're settling in. You don't look like a ghost anymore."
"Still feel like one sometimes," he admitted.
"Well, we see you. That counts for something."
He looked at her for a long moment.
"Yeah. It does."
(To be continued in Chapter 7...)