At dusk, the river surface burned a slow, molten orange. From the factory chimney across the water, a thin white plume rose and dissolved into the breeze. Misaki watched it idly. The iron railing held the last warmth of the sun, passing it gently into her palms. The river had a smell — salt and mud and something faintly sweet, a scent that belonged to this city alone. Three years since she'd come here. She exhaled slowly. The breath vanished into the amber air. --- As the night faded into white, Feln Elzen had not slept at all. She sat by the window on the second floor, watching the dawn break over Weishardt for a time. The birch forest emerged slowly from the mist, reclaiming its outline piece by piece. From pale violet to orange, from orange to white. Each time the sky's color shifted, her thoughts drifted back to the young man sleeping downstairs. The words *Heiter's apprentice* still caught in her chest. Heiter had been a kind person. Always wearing a slightly troubled expression, yet moving forward for someone else's sake. When Frieren had said that years of travel had passed "in an instant," only Heiter had answered quietly, "I see. How lonely." He was no longer in this world. Three years ago, she had learned in a letter that he had been called to heaven at the Holy City Wilhelm Church. And now his apprentice was sleeping on her floor tonight. When Feln came downstairs in the morning, the young man was already awake. He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing quietly at the bandage wrapped around his right arm. When he noticed her footsteps and looked up, there was a faint flash of surprise in his eyes—but his next movement was swift. He rose from the bed and bowed deeply. [serious] "Last night... thank you very much. I'm sorry for imposing on you so suddenly." His words came slowly, each one chosen with care. His voice was calm, but there was a thread of tension running through it. Feln observed the young man anew. He had pale golden hair with a slight natural wave. Clear, water-blue eyes. He was tall. A thin scar marked his left cheek. In the mud and blood of last night, she hadn't noticed it, but his features were refined, his age younger than she'd first thought. Seventeen, perhaps eighteen. He was the kind of person who looked like the word *earnest* had put on clothes and started walking, Feln thought. [cold] "Please sit. The wound hasn't completely closed yet." She returned with water she had prepared and unwound the bandage. The fang marks from the Waldwolf—the magically-infused white birch wolves of the forest—had been deep, but last night's treatment had worked well. It didn't require stitches. She applied a fresh poultice of medicinal herbs and wrapped it with new bandaging. Throughout, the young man said nothing. He didn't wince at the pain, simply remained still. When Feln withdrew her hands after finishing, the young man spoke. [serious] "My name is Ellen Garde. I was raised in the orphanage of the Holy City Wilhelm Church." He paused, then continued. [serious] "Father Heiter took care of me since I was small. Until just before he passed, he spoke to me about his travels. About the journey to defeat the Demon Lord, about Frieren, and about—you, Teacher Feln." Feln remained silent. [serious] "Heiter said that magic exists to save people. It's not about technique, but about whether you can hold words that reach someone. I've been practicing while thinking about the meaning of those words all this time. But alone, I always hit a limit—so I came here, hoping you might teach me." It wasn't an emotional appeal. His voice was matter-of-fact, quiet. And because of that quietness, it carried a weight that couldn't be easily dismissed. Feln stood and turned toward the window. The morning of Weishardt was beginning. Light fell across the stone pavement, and the voices of the market were starting to drift in from the distance. For ten years in this town, Feln had managed alone. There was no reason to take an apprentice. Her research was self-contained. That had been enough—or so she had always believed. [cold] "I don't take apprentices. Once your wound is fully healed, you will leave." She spoke without turning around. Her voice held no hesitation. There was a long silence, and then the young man answered. [serious] "...I understand." No argument. No excuse. He simply accepted it. That very obedience unsettled Feln in a way she couldn't quite name. --- From the next dawn onward, Ellen stood on the stone pavement in front of the research tower. Feln noticed it from the second-floor balcony in the early morning hours. In the plaza where morning mist still lingered, Ellen was repeating an incantation in a small voice. Zolgraff—the basic magic of compressing and releasing magical power—practice. But the release of power was uneven, and the trajectory of the light sphere wavered each time. Feln ignored him for three days. He had said he would leave once the wound healed. So he would leave. That was all there was to it. On the fourth morning, when Feln stepped onto the balcony, she narrowed her eyes. The distortion in Ellen's incantation had clearly worsened since yesterday. The magical power released from his right hand was leaking out from beyond his fingers. His magical pathways—the channels through which power flowed through the body—were becoming accustomed to the wrong direction. This was evidence of it. According to the "Safety Standards for Practitioners" set by the Continental Magic Association Ordina, such pathway deviations, if not corrected early, could lead to self-injury from overload. It was explicitly stated in their regulations. On the fifth morning, Ellen's right arm was trembling slightly. The magical leakage was increasing. If he continued like this, he would suffer serious damage to his magical pathways within a week. If that happened, there was a possibility he would never be able to use magic again. Feln bit down on her back teeth. It wasn't her concern. She hadn't said she would take an apprentice. But—leaving that distorted incantation unaddressed was like knowing a bridge's railing was rotting and saying nothing. Knowing a person would fall and staying silent made no sense. It was a rational judgment. Emotion had nothing to do with it. Feln told herself this and left the research tower in the early hours of the sixth day. Ellen was in the middle of his incantation. When Feln stepped in front of him, he stopped and looked up. Without a word, Feln took Ellen's right wrist. She examined the flow of magical power leaking from between his fingers. There were three fundamental errors. In the second verse of the incantation, he was trying to "push" the magical power, but the correct approach was to "let it flow." In the fourth verse, his breathing was too fast, and the compression wasn't keeping pace. Unnecessary tension was building on the pinky side of his right hand, and power was escaping from there. [serious] "In the second verse of your incantation. Magical power is not something you push. Like water flowing to lower ground, you create a path and let it pass through. You're throwing stones into a river right now. That only disturbs the flow." Ellen listened in silence. [serious] "Your breathing timing in the fourth verse is too early. The compression isn't keeping up. And—release the tension in your pinky finger. Right now." The moment Ellen slowly relaxed his pinky, the magical leakage stopped. Feln released his wrist. [serious] "That's all. Make these corrections starting today, and I'll check again in a week." She turned to head back to the research tower. [gentle] "...Thank you very much." The voice from behind her was quiet and sincere. It was less gratitude and more the voice of someone receiving something precious. Feln didn't turn around. As she closed the tower door, she realized that she had just *taught* him. The sensation of having taught him lingered in her chest for a while. What it meant, Feln was not yet ready to acknowledge. --- In the second week, Feln brought Ellen to the entrance of the birch forest. Everything that could be explained in words had been covered. Now he needed to learn the flow of magical power through his body in the actual natural world. That was the fastest way. A rational decision. Nothing more. In the stand of birch trees, dappled sunlight trembled finely. The late-summer forest air was slightly cool, carrying the scent of fallen leaves. A small bird sang in the distance. Ellen began his incantation. Second verse, fourth verse—the corrected flow was far more stable than before. But there was still a subtle misalignment between his fingers. Feln started to explain in words, then stopped. This was no longer a problem that language could convey. It was a matter of finger pressure and angle. Feln stepped closer and cradled Ellen's right hand in both of hers. She placed her own fingers gently between his, correcting the direction of the leaking magical power with the pressure of her palms. Ellen's hand was—warmer than she expected. It was a completely rational act of instruction. Feln understood it that way. And yet. Something deep in her chest rang quietly. Another person's body heat, held in both her hands. Just that alone—carried an unexpected weight. Since the day Frieren had departed on her final journey, Feln had not touched anyone at such close distance. That had been ten years. In this moment, she became acutely aware of it for the first time. Ten years. It had been ten years since she had felt another person's warmth in her palms like this. For one second, Feln lost her words. Then she quietly released Ellen's hand and stepped back. She kept the trembling in her chest from showing on her face. [serious] "...That's the amount of pressure. Remember it." Her voice remained steady, she thought. Probably. Ellen said nothing. Whether he had noticed the change in her expression, she couldn't tell. He simply nodded quietly and resumed his incantation. Only the sound of birch leaves rustling in the wind filled the space between them. Feln continued her instruction through words, but it took a while for her heartbeat to settle. She stood watching Ellen's incantation, pretending not to notice—though pretending was all she could manage. Ellen seemed focused on correcting his magic—but once, in the silence, he glanced at her. Feln pretended not to see. Pretending was all she could do. --- That night, after returning from the birch forest, Feln began copying manuscripts. A grimoire of Frieren's—among the books her teacher had left behind, the oldest and most densely filled—she was continuing the work of transcribing its contents onto fresh parchment due to its deterioration. It was tedious work, requiring time and attention to fine script and complex incantation formulas. Ellen remained quiet at the end of the bookshelf during this time. While Feln was absorbed in her copying, Ellen took a thin volume from the far end of the shelf. *Calling Birds—A Collection of Folk Incantation Formulas*, read the cover, one of Frieren's books. Almost absently, he opened to a page of incantation formulas. Frieren's fine handwriting filled the page. There were notes in the margins too. Supplementary annotations, corrections to incantations, occasionally hastily scrawled words. It was all as expected. But—directly after the verse number of the third verse, small numbers and symbols were interspersed. At first, he thought it was a copying error. But the seventh verse had the same kind of sequence. The twelfth verse too. Third, seventh, twelfth—at regular intervals. Moreover, the arrangement of those numbers followed a clear pattern. For an incantation annotation, the structure was wrong. Ellen had never seen this kind of notation, even in the library of the Holy City orphanage. This wasn't a memo for the incantation. Ellen held his brea