Magic story

It was a rainy New Year's Eve in 1947, and a mansion brimmed with guests. People chatted,
drank, and indulged in the festivities. Mannequins, adorned with trays of food and champagne
flutes, floated through the crowd. Amidst the joyous and intoxicated gathering, a hooded figure
entered, drenched from the rain. His gaze fell upon a grand staircase that commanded attention
at the center of the room, leading to the second floor. The entrance hall boasted an open
concept, allowing a view of all the revelers on the first floor.

Undeterred by the blissful chaos, the man hurriedly made his way toward the staircase.
However, two imposing security guards stood before him, their crossed spears forming an
impassable barrier. Disregarding their presence, the man removed his hood, revealing a young
face with short black hair and piercing green eyes. The guards, upon recognizing him, drew
their lances closer and bowed their heads. 'Excuse us, sir. We had no idea it was you,' they
humbly apologize.

Without acknowledging their words, the man ascended the stairs. As he reached the second
floor, the lights suddenly went out, and a countdown began. '10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. HAPPY
NEW YEAR!' The room erupted in cheers as fireworks illuminated the magnificent mansion.
Amidst the magical spectacle, the man resumed his search, his gaze fixed on a closed balcony
where the person he sought awaited.

There stood a slender man in an impeccably tailored suit, exuding elegance. Beside him stood a
younger woman, dressed in a breathtaking green gown, its flowing hemline leaving a trail of
disappearing green particles. Her long blond hair cascaded down, and her blue eyes sparkled.
In her arms, she cradled a baby. The couple was surrounded by an entourage of important-
looking figures.

Approaching the elegant man, the hooded figure knelt before him and spoke, 'Excuse me, sir, I
have something to report.' Initially sporting a welcoming smile, the elegant man's expression
turned to anger upon hearing the interruption. Controlling his rage, he took a deep breath and
said, 'Can this wait? I am enjoying time with my family.' His smile plastered back on his face, he
gestured toward his wife and the gathered guests. The kneeling man nervously replied, 'I
apologize, sir, but this matter is urgent.'

The change in the elegant man's demeanor was palpable. Though seething with anger, he
forced composure and managed to utter, 'Excuse me, Mr. President, duty calls. Honey, could
you please entertain these gentlemen while I'm gone?' 'Of course, husband,' his wife replied.
With that, the elegant man walked away, and the hooded figure followed him closely. 'We
cannot discuss this here; there may be ears listening,' the hooded man whispered, keeping his
eyes fixed on the floor.
As they made their way through the mansion, well-wishers offered New Year's greetings to the
elegant man, while the hooded figure was largely ignored. He politely reciprocated the well
wishes but continued on his path. With the fireworks now subsiding, floating candles illuminated
the room, casting a soft glow on their surroundings. Approaching a door, two identical children,
around five years old, greeted their father in unison. Wearing matching suits and sharing his
black curly hair and eyes, they excitedly exclaimed, "Happy New Year, Father!" The man
crouched down, enveloping them in a warm embrace. "Happy New Year, my boys," he replied
with a smile.

"Father, Benjamin conjured a small whirlwind on his hand." one of the children eagerly shared.
"Yes, Father, can I do it again for you to see?" The other kid who presumably his name, was
Benjamin. "I'm sorry kids, but now I am occupied with something, maybe later you can show it to
me." "Come on, Dad, please let him show you," pleaded one of the children eagerly. Suddenly,
the gentle man transformed into an aggressive figure. "Didn't I say maybe later? Are you
incapable of understanding simple instructions?" His words struck a nerve, and the children
suppressed their disappointment. Nearby onlookers averted their gazes, pretending not to
notice the unfolding scene.

"Alexa!" the man called out softly. Within moments, a woman ascended the stairs to join them.
"I'm so sorry, sir. The kids are quite mischievous, but I promise it won't happen again. I swear
on my honor," she said, apologizing on their behalf. "It's alright. Just take them to their
quarters," the man responded, understanding the challenges they posed. The woman nodded
and led the children downstairs, grasping their hands gently.

The two men continued their journey, moving through a series of hallways until they arrived at a
door. With a wave of his hand, the elegant man conjured a key, unlocking the door to reveal an
office-like room. Cabinets lined the walls, a desk with two chairs sat in front of it, and another
chair stood behind. The elegant man settled into the chair behind the desk, while the hooded
figure positioned himself between the two chairs.

"Now, please tell me why I'm being pulled away from my wife, my newborn, and the president,"
the elegant man demanded, his frustration evident. The hooded figure took a deep breath
before delivering his message. "Sir, your child has just been born."

"What are you talking about? Rosa was born last month. Is this the reason for my disruption?"
The elegant man's anger flared. The hooded figure swiftly clarified, "Apologies, sir, but I am not
referring to Ms. Rosa. I am speaking of your child with Caroline De Rosier."

The elegant man sprung to his feet, conjuring a staff with a wave of his hand. "Are you
slandering my name? These may be your last words!" he threatened, his voice filled with
menace. Bowing low, the hooded figure trembled with fear. "I am not slandering you, sir.
Caroline De Rosier has indeed given birth to your son," he asserted.
The elegant man, visibly shaken, sank back into his chair and released his grip on the staff. He
covered his face with his hands momentarily, then lifted his head, gripping the armrests tightly.
"What happened to you, Caroline?" he whispered to himself. Regaining his composure, he let
go of the armrests and faced the hooded figure. "Do you have any information about her? Is she
safe?"

"We don't have many details, sir," the hooded figure replied. "We know she works at a brothel
and struggles with addiction to a magical drug, which she funds through her work there." The
elegant man's gaze hardened as he absorbed the information. "And how can you be certain the
child is mine? Isn't she just a common woman of the night? This child could belong to anyone."

The hooded figure took a deep breath before answering, "The timelines align, sir. Caroline
began working at the brothel three months ago. To confirm paternity, we discreetly used
Illumina's Paternity Light, employing your old wand." The elegant man's frustration grew. "Why
wasn't this information brought to my attention earlier?"

"Sir," the hooded figure began, "once the Missus learned of your affair with Caroline, she placed
a spy on her. To be honest, we suspect that the spy played a role in Caroline's addiction to the
drugs." The elegant man's expression shifted from anger to curiosity. "Howdo you know this?"
the elegant man inquired. The hooded figure nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir. I noticed that the
Missus was behaving strangely, so I decided to monitor her activities. I was concerned she
might be plotting against you. One day, I followed one of her men to the slums and
apprehended him. Under the influence of a Truth Potion, he divulged everything."

The elegant man leaned back in his chair, contemplating the revelations. "And what became of
him? Did you eliminate him?" he asked, his tone tinged with caution. The hooded figure
reassured him, "No, sir. Eliminating him would have aroused suspicion. Instead, one of our most
skilled operatives is currently employing a mind control spell on him, feeding false information
back to the Missus.

"The elegant man nodded approvingly. "A wise decision. But why did you keep all this from me
until now?" The hooded figure hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing his words. "Honestly,
sir, we feared that divulging this information would jeopardize your position and strain your
marriage. We wanted to ensure your safety and preserve the stability of your household."

The elegant man rose from his chair and began pacing the room, deep in thought. He circled
around until he stood by the window behind his desk, gazing out into the distance. "What course
of action do you recommend? Speak truthfully, for I will know if you do not," he commanded, his
voice steady but firm. The hooded figure stood upright, no longer bowing. "As an employee of
the House of Orléans-Braganza, I believe that eliminating both Caroline and the child,
discreetly, would be the safest option. It would protect you from any potential repercussions.
However, as a fellow human being, I suggest letting them live their lives. Considering Caroline's
intoxication, it's unlikely she would remember your involvement."
The elegant man's eyes narrowed, assessing the weight of the decision before him. "Since your
human side deems it the best course, let us follow that path. But know this: if you wish for them
to live, you shall be their guardian. Your life will be dedicated to their well-being. I expect
monthly reports on their status, and you must ensure that my wife remains oblivious to their
existence," he declared firmly.
The hooded figure dropped to his knees once again. "Yes, sir. I will comply with your orders and
ensure their well-being. You have my word." With those words, he vanished from the room,
leaving the elegant man alone with his thoughts.As he sat back in his chair, the elegant man
reflected on the situation. "If only I had known, I would have protected you with all my strength,"
he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of regret and determination.

It was December, and the sun was just rising, casting its gentle light on a small shed where a
mother and her young son slept. The boy, with black medium straight hair and red eyes, woke
up as soon as the sun's rays reached his face. He glanced around and noticed his mother
sleeping on the bed without a blanket. Acting swiftly, he got up and placed the blanket that had
covered him over his mother.

His mother, in her mid-thirties with long dark blond hair, red eyes, and wearing a white garment,
stirred awake. She looked weak and fragile, her pale skin resembling silk. Their living space
was cramped, and their "kitchen" consisted of a sink and a wood stove. The small room had a
beaten-down table with wooden benches in the center, a bed on one side, and some sheets to
make it more comfortable.

The boy prepared breakfast and placed it on the small table. He tried to wake his mother gently.
"Wake up, Mom, breakfast is ready." However, she wouldn't budge, so he shook her slightly.
"Just five more minutes," she pleaded with her eyes closed. Concerned about the food getting
cold, the boy insisted, "If you don't eat now, the food will get cold." Eventually, his mother fully
awakened and sat on the bed.

The boy fetched a wooden bench and positioned it next to his mother's bed. He took the plate of
food and began feeding her. "This is so yummy, son," she exclaimed. "Thanks, Mom. You have
to eat it all so you can get better quickly," the boy replied, his voice filled with care. A warm
smile formed on his mother's face as she finished eating. It was apparent that she was sick,
battling an undiscovered disease. With their financial struggles, their only recourse was to rely
on their neighbor, who was a former doctor that knew how to make medicines. While the
disease couldn't be cured, the doctor's remedies helped slow its progression.

Before falling ill, the boy's mother had learned to read and write from the doctor, who would
bring books for the boy every week. The boy was tasked with reading them and creating
"reports" on what he had read.
After his mother finished eating, she returned to sleep, exhausted by the effort. The boy
ventured outside to the nearby lake to wash the dishes. Despite having a sink, water was
scarce, so they had to ration it carefully. Fortunately, the lake provided a reliable water source
for their daily needs.
Once he finished washing the dishes, the boy chopped some wood outside the house.
Afterward, he sat beside his mother's bed and started reading the book given to him by the
doctor. With no friends and often facing bullying due to his mother's nighttime job, reading
became his solace. He immersed himself in the book until it was 10 o'clock, the time to wake his
mother for her medicine. Gently, he roused her, and she took her medicine without causing
much trouble. "Thank you for waking me, baby," she said weakly, summoning all her energy to
smile. The boy reassured her, "Don't worry, Mom. That was nothing." Witnessing his mother's
smile, the boy felt a glimmer of hope, knowing that everything was a struggle for her.

Feeling guilty for interrupting his reading earlier, his mother suggested he read to her. She lay
on the bed, listening to his sweet voice as he read from the book. Soon enough, she drifted off
to sleep.

Later that day, Dr. Silva, the elderly neighbor and tutor, arrived at their humble abode, as he did
faithfully every day, to assess the mother's condition and provide lessons for the young boy. Dr.
Silva's weathered appearance hinted at his seasoned years, his dark eyes peering with wisdom.
His once-lustrous black hair now intermingled with strands of silver, a testament to the passage
of time. A generous, grizzled beard adorned his face, while he donned a worn, brown robe that
bore the marks of countless journeys. Carrying a well-worn courier bag, which held all the tools
of his trade, he entered the house with a sense of purpose and care. "Good afternoon, Lucas!
How are you two doing?" Dr. Silva greeted as he entered the tiny house. "We're fine, Dr. Silva. I
think Mom is getting better," Lucas replied with a hopeful smile.

"Why don't we check on her now?" suggested Dr. Silva. Lucas hesitated for a moment,
"Actually, not too long ago, I woke her up to take her medicine, and it took some time for her to
fall back asleep. Let's do it by the end of the lesson." Dr. Silva nodded understandingly, his
warm smile reflecting his genuine concern. "Either way is fine with me," he assured Lucas.

Dr. Silva noticed the book that Lucas had been reading. "I see that you were reading the book I
gave you," he remarked with a hint of enthusiasm. Lucas's eyes lit up, and he replied eagerly,
"Yes! I loved the part where—"

Dr. Silva interrupted him gently, putting a finger to his lips. "Shh, your mom is sleeping," he
whispered. Lucas apologized in a hushed tone, "Sorry."

As the hours passed, Dr. Silva continued to question him about the book, urging him to give a
detailed analysis as if it were a classroom presentation. Lucas felt unprepared for such a task.
The book delved into a medieval era where magic thrived, narrating the story of Merlin, the
mage who trained King Arthur Pendragon and shaped him into the legendary king known in
tales. After discussing the book, Dr. Silva proceeded to teach Lucas grammatical Portuguese
and Latin, despite the boy's belief that Latin was an unnecessary language since few people
spoke it anymore.

After the tutoring session concluded, Lucas eagerly requested that Dr. Silva check on his
mother. "Could you please see if she's improving? I think she might be," he said, hoping for
positive news. "Of course, I'll go check on her right away," the doctor replied. He made his way
to Lucas's mother, gently touching her forehead, and she woke up without much difficulty.
Frustrated, Lucas exclaimed, "Can you teach me how to do that? Every morning, I struggle to
wake her up, and she often resists taking her medicine." Dr. Silva sighed sympathetically,
"Perhaps one day I'll teach you, but you're not ready for it just yet," he said, sporting a smug
expression.

"Goodnight, Mom! How are you feeling? Dr. Silva is here to check on you," Lucas happily
greeted his mother. "Goodnight, Ms. Caroline. How are you today?" the doctor inquired. "I think
I'm doing okay," she replied, adjusting her position to sit on the bed. Dr. Silva sat down next to
her on the wooden bench Lucas had brought for him, taking her pulse and measuring her blood
pressure. With a reassuring smile, he said, "Let me check your blood pressure and see how it's
going."

Upon examining her blood pressure, Dr. Silva's expression turned grave for a moment, but he
quickly replaced it with a more comforting look and said, "Well, it's not ideal, but I see progress.
How about I examine the rest of your body?" "Okay," she forced a smile.

Caroline lay down on the bed, and Dr. Silva stood in front of her, hovering his fingers about 10
centimeters above her body. He moved his hands in opposite directions, scanning her entire
body. Lucas, unfamiliar with medical practices, assumed this was a normal procedure, but his
mother knew otherwise. Yet, she chose to trust Dr. Silva, as she had no other treatment options.

Completing his examination, Dr. Silva turned to Caroline and said, "Ms. Caroline, based on the
examination, it seems you are genuinely improving, but I can't pinpoint the exact reason. It
could be the medication you're taking or the combined efforts of you and Lucas. I don't have a
definite answer. That's why I will come back tomorrow and the day after to monitor your
progress." His tone was serious. "Did you hear that, Mom? You really are getting better!" Lucas
exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement. "Yes, baby, I am," Caroline replied with a smile.

"Now, before I head home, I need my book back. Oh, it seems I left it at my house. Lucas, my
dear, can you fetch the book for me? It's called 'The World of Magic and Astrology' by John
Dee. You know where it is," Dr. Silva requested. Just like Lucas's house, Dr. Silva's house was
equally small. "Okay, I'll be back soon, Mom." The joyful boy left the house.

"Now, tell me what you really wanted to discuss, Doctor.” The smile on Caroline's face faded,
and a serious expression replaced it. "It's true that I see improvement in your body and illness,
but what worries me is that this might just be the calm before the storm due to your heavy drug
use," the doctor confessed, looking down with a saddened expression.

Caroline's voice trembled as tears streamed down her face. "How long...?" she managed to
utter, struggling to hold back her sobs.

Dr. Silva remained calm and composed. "By my estimation, you have, at most, two weeks to
live," he said, his words heavy with sorrow.

Caroline couldn't contain her anguish, crying uncontrollably. Through her tears, she managed to
compose herself enough to speak. "I need you to promise me two things," she said, her voice
barely audible amid her sobs. "First, promise me that you won't tell Lucas about this. I want him
to remain unaware and live a normal life. And second, promise me that after I'm gone, you will
take care of him and ensure that he has a good life. I want him to go to school and pursue his
dreams. Please, promise me that you'll help him, you know that I don’t have anyone."

Dr. Silva's eyes welled up with tears, but he maintained his composure. "I promise you that I will
fulfill his wishes with my life. I will never break this promise," he said, his voice filled with
determination. He took a deep breath and continued, "Now, wipe your tears because Lucas is
coming back."

She followed the doctor's instructions, and within moments, the door swung open, revealing
Lucas holding the book tightly in his arms. As he entered, he noticed his mother wiping away
tears, her eyes red and swollen from crying, while Dr. Silva stood up, as if anticipating the boy's
arrival.

"Are you okay, Mom?" Lucas's joy transformed into concern. "I'm fine, sweetie. I was
overwhelmed with happiness because of the good news, and it brought tears to my eyes," she
replied, her voice weak but determined to shield her son from worry.

Although Lucas suspected her words were untrue, he chose to believe them, offering a wide
smile that stretched from ear to ear. Approaching his mother, he embraced her gently, his
thoughts filled with compassion for her situation.

"Now that my work is complete, it's time for me to go," Dr. Silva announced, moving closer to
the door. "Don't you want to join us for dinner, Mr. Silva?" Lucas interjected, his hopeful gaze
fixed upon the doctor. "Yes, Dr. Silva, why don't you—" Caroline's sentence was interrupted by
a fit of coughing. "I apologize. What I meant to say is, would you stay for dinner tonight?"

The doctor glanced at the boy's worried expression, then turned his gaze to Caroline before
responding, "I'm sorry, but I have an appointment I cannot afford to miss. However, rest
assured, I will return tomorrow to tutor Lucas and attend to your situation, Ms. Caroline." He
offered them reassuring words, spoken in a manner that left no room for further insistence on
his presence.

"If you can't stay, I won't insist any longer. Good night, Dr. Silva," Caroline said, sensing the
underlying intention behind his words. "Okay then," Lucas replied with disappointment. "Good
night, doctor. See you tomorrow." He bid the doctor farewell, a faint smile lingering on his face.
"Good night, Ms. Caroline. Good night, Lucas. Take good care of your mother and don't forget
to do your homework," the doctor wished them before leaving the house, his mind consumed
with concerns about fulfilling his promise and the boy's future after his mother's passing.

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully. Lucas and his mother engaged in conversation
about his lessons while the boy prepared dinner for them. It had been four months since his
mother became bedridden, but even prior to that, Lucas had been remarkably independent. His
mother would work during the night, leaving him to fend for himself during the day. Most of their
neighbors despised Caroline and desired her removal from their impoverished neighborhood.

One day, due to their dire circumstances, at the age of five Lucas contracted pneumonia. Living
in an underprivileged area of São Paulo, his mother had few options but to seek help from their
neighbors. Knocking on door after door, she received no aid until a passing elderly man took
notice of her plight and decided to lend a hand.

Returning to their home, Caroline discovered that the elderly man was once a renowned doctor,
but life's complications had led him to live among the impoverished. After days of dedicated
care, he successfully cured Lucas's illness. Witnessing the family's challenging circumstances,
he resolved to become the boy's teacher, offering his guidance in the mornings and afternoons
while the boy's mother slept. Thus began the special bond between the doctor and the humble
family of two.

In the dimly lit office, nestled beside a window, a tall man sat in his chair, engrossed in typing a
letter on his typewriter. Standing on his front, near a cabinet, stood his loyal assistant, clutching
a letter in his hand. Despite his advancing age and bald head, he maintained a dignified
presence, dressed in an impeccably clean suit. His allegiance to the House of Orléans-
Braganza spanned generations, as his father had served as the previous lord, passing down the
role to him, and one day, his son would inherit the responsibility.

"Sir," he spoke with a hint of worry, approaching his lord. "I have just received a letter from the
Lord of Windsor." He hesitated, aware of his lord's busy demeanor. "Read it to me, can't you
see I'm swamped with work?" The lord snapped at his assistant, his frustration evident. "A-Are
you certain, sir?" the assistant questioned, concerned about the contents of the letter. "Alfredo, I
have entrusted you with more secrets than I have shared with my own wife. You served my
father and my father's father. You are the sole person I can truly trust in this entire household.
So please, read this cursed letter," the lord replied, his fatigue and stress palpable. "Very well,
sir. It begins as follows..."
 My Dearest Friend,
Patricio.
I write you this letter containing some information on the latest news from Europe.
Vincent Thomas just won the election for Prime Minister, even though we don’t have much
political strength in this hidden world of ours, it is refreshing to see a young non royal
person winning the election, now for the information you really wanted.
His minions started to move, last week in Burgsteall, a little village in Austria, they stole a
magical artifact from the museum of Dark Arts called the Sword of Soul Stealing, when
you kill a person using it, the sword absorbs their soul energy.
With it alone they cannot do much, that’s why I ‘m thinking their next attack is in your
country, they’re probably going for the Ebonheart Crystal, with these two artifacts they
have a chance to free him from the eternal prison.
Please my friend don’t underestimate their strengths, they will kill your family if needed to
free their leader, this information is not public knowledge so be careful of whom you tell
this.
I really hope we can see each other soon, so I can finally have my revenge on the field.

Your Sincere friend,

Prince Phillip, Duke of Edinburgh of House Windsor.

"So they've made their first move, huh?" He stroked his chin, though he lacked a beard.
"Honestly, I thought it would take them another ten years to act, but I miscalculated. Alfredo,
write a letter to the vice principal of Arandu Magical Academy. Put a spell on it that will destroy
itself after it's been read." He urged his assistant. "Yes, sir!" Alfredo opened the door to leave
the office. "Need I remind you that this information is to remain strictly confidential?" Pattricio
asked his servant to reinforce the privacy of the matter and he responded with a smile before
exiting the room.
As the door closed, a shadowy figure emerged from behind it—a man in robes with a hood. "I
assume you overheard everything," the seated man said, typing on his typewriter without
looking at the hooded figure. He pondered to himself, "How did I not sense his mana? Has he
become that powerful?"

"Yes, sir, unfortunately, I did hear it all. But believe me, I won't breathe a word of this to
anyone," the hooded man kneeled.

"Yes, yes, I believe you. So, stop kneeling; you're making me uncomfortable," the typing man
gestured for him to stand up, and he obliged. "Why are you here? Is it time for your monthly
report?" he asked with a hint of debauchery.

"No, sir, it isn't. I'm afraid I bring bad news," the hooded man said, his gaze cast downward with
sadness.

"What is it now? Is the boy sick again? Or did his wretched mother fall off the bed and break her
hip?" The man's anger escalated with each word, pounding the keys of his typewriter harder
and harder. "What is so important that you eavesdropped on my private conversation? Tell me
urgently," the hooded man took a deep breath and delivered the heavy news. "Sir, it's Ms.
Caroline. She is dying." The words hung in the air, silencing the room. After a minute of tense
stillness, the seated man slammed the table in anger.

"How did you allow this to happen? You told me it was curable!" His anger swelled, his words
turning venomous. "Did you lie to me?" he shouted. "No, sir, I—" "You'd better provide a good
explanation, or your life will end," he interrupted fiercely. "My lord, at first, I thought it was a
common fever. But as her condition worsened, my abilities failed to diagnose her ailment. So I
sought help from the great Magus Saramago, but even his healing magic proved ineffective,"
the hooded man explained.

Patricio rose from his seat, summoning a staff into his hand. He pointed it at the hooded man,
and a powerful gust of wind blew him toward the door. "Why didn't you inform me earlier? Your
reports claimed she was improving!" The wind filled the room taking with it a stack of papers that
was seated on the desk and some objects that wasn't protected inside the cabinets. The gust
continued to assault him, lifting him off the ground and leaving him with cuts from its sharp
force. "I'm sorry, my lord, but I continued administering the medication prescribed by Magus
Saramago, and she showed signs of improvement," he shouted over the roaring wind. "And
even if I had known earlier, what would you have done? You are under constant surveillance,
except in this place protected by magic. What would you have done if you had discovered it
sooner?" Just as he finished speaking, the hooded figure punched the wall next to the door,
creating a small black hole that absorbed the wind until Patricio ceased its effects and all the
objects that were floating from the wind's influence now fell to the floor.
"Did you dare to use magic against me?" Patricio spoke with disdain. "No, my lord, I merely
used magic to dispel yours. I would never use magic against you. But I won't let you unjustly
judge me without hearing me out," the hooded figure explained. Patricio waved his hand, and
his staff vanished. "Speak then, and if I find it to be a lie, you won't leave here alive, regardless
of your noble lineage. Your father won't be able to save you." The hooded figure approached
the desk and reasoned with his lord.

"Four months ago, Ms. Carolina collapsed while working on the streets. If not for her colleague,
she would have perished in the cold night. I attended to her to the best of my abilities, though
my affinity lies with the light element I was never trained in the healing arts. I could only apply a
weak healing spell. I believed it was sufficient, but as her condition worsened, I sought the aid of
healing experts. That's when I turned to the great Magus Saramago. He tried his hardest to
identify her illness, but it remained undiagnosed. He prescribed a medicine and taught me the
recipe to prepare it myself. She showed improvement for a while, even leaving her bed one
time. However, her illness resurfaced stronger last month, and the medicine proved less
effective. I returned to Magus Saramago, and he provided a stronger recipe. I thought I
observed progress, but when I checked on her today, the situation was dire. Finally, I
discovered that she wasn't afflicted by a common disease or a magical ailment—it was a curse
placed upon her." The hooded man's eyes welled up, and tears streamed down his face. "If I
had known earlier, perhaps I could have saved her." He lost control, sobbing like never before.
It was unusual for a servant, especially a warrior, to display such vulnerability before his lord.
Patricio felt discomfort witnessing his servant's emotional outpouring, but it also demonstrated
that the outcome wasn't due to a lack of effort.

"How much time does she have left?" Patricio maintained his composure, concealing any
weakness from his servant. "At most, two weeks," he replied through sobs, using his hands to
wipe away his tears. "Was it my wife?" He asked as if he would take action if it was her. "No, sir.
We are monitoring her.” He regained his composure and collected himself. “And her soldier
remains under our control," the servant assured. Patricio paused for a moment, stroking his chin
as he pondered who could be responsible. "Then who could it be? I am no longer the prime
minister, nor involved in politics. No party would target me." He looked up, his doubt evident.
"Our team is currently developing theories on the matter," the hooded man replied. Patricio sank
into his chair, feeling defeated. "Is there anything else to report?" He now thought of a course of
action. "No, sir. But may I ask a personal question?" Patricio chuckled at his servant's request,
finding it somewhat insulting. "Sure, you've already used your magic against me; why wouldn't
you ask a personal question?" He laughed, and the man remained silent. "Go ahead and ask,"
the hooded figure took a stance and posed his question. "What will become of the boy when his
mother passes away?" Patricio smirked. "Why? Do you want to claim him for yourself?" he
asked with a hint of smugness. "No, sir. It's just that I have grown fond of him over the years. I
don't want him to end up on the streets," the servant replied earnestly. Patricio considered
making a joke, but seeing his servant's seriousness, he responded in kind. "I haven't decided
yet. I will let you know when the time comes." He answered with gravity. "Now get out of here!"
he commanded, and the hooded man disappeared into a shadowy corner of the room.
"So you have only two weeks left to live. Perhaps I should pay you a visit," Patricio murmured,
returning his focus to typing.

That night, Lucas had a peculiar dream. He found himself wandering through a vibrant and
enigmatic forest, its colors captivating and its atmosphere mysterious. He walked for what
seemed like hours, but the forest stretched endlessly, refusing to release him from its embrace.
Fatigue gnawed at his bones, exacerbated by the sweltering heat and suffocating humidity.
Eventually, Lucas discovered solace upon a fallen tree trunk, where he sat to rest.

From his newfound perch, Lucas marveled at his surroundings. Never before had he witnessed
a forest in person, yet it resembled the vivid descriptions he had encountered in books. The air
reverberated with the chorus of croaking frogs and melodious birdsong. In that moment, he
realized that he need not escape this place; instead, he should relish the opportunity to
experience it firsthand, for it existed solely within the realm of his dreams.

Thus, he sat there, gazing at the sky with a radiant smile. All his worries evaporated, leaving
him immersed in the present moment. However, his serenity was interrupted by rustling noises
emanating from a cluster of tall bushes behind him. Lucas instinctively rose from the tree,
anticipating the arrival of whatever approached. The rustling grew louder and closer until finally,
a figure emerged from the foliage.

It was a boy, around Lucas' age, perhaps slightly older. His blonde hair fell untamed around his
face, and he wore an oversized, poorly sewn shirt paired with shorts. Sprinting with urgency, he
halted in front of Lucas and delivered a warning. "Run! There is a wild boar approaching!" With
those words, the blond boy swiftly resumed his frenzied escape.

Caught off guard by the rapid turn of events, Lucas stood there, trying to comprehend the
situation. Almost immediately, the bushes resumed their agitated rustling, this time with even
greater fervor. Realization struck Lucas, and he comprehended the imminent danger the boy
had mentioned.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lucas propelled himself forward, sprinting with every ounce of
strength he possessed. While he possessed the physical prowess to handle tasks like chopping
firewood, his endurance waned due to a lack of regular physical activity beyond the confines of
his home.

Navigating through the forest proved arduous, obstacles at every turn testing his agility and
focus. Yet, for a brief period, he skillfully maneuvered through the labyrinthine woodland,
dodging obstructions with the grace of a natural-born athlete. Confidence surged within him,
prompting him to steal a glance backward at the boar, which remained roughly 15 meters away.
Satisfied that he could outpace the animal if he maintained his rhythm, he heaved a sigh of
relief.
However, as he shifted his gaze back to the path ahead, a branch jutted out from a nearby tree.
Moving too swiftly to alter his trajectory, Lucas instinctively attempted to minimize the impact by
contorting his body, but the branch collided with his chest. Pain coursed through him, and he
knew he had little time to recover. Gathering his strength, he rose to his feet, wincing as the
agony persisted.

Now, with his stumble, the distance between Lucas and the boar had diminished significantly.
The animal's presence loomed ever closer, its breath on his heels. Lucas understood that one
misstep would prove fatal. The dream felt unnervingly real, causing him to forget that it was
merely a figment of his imagination. To him, the peril felt authentic.

Sensing the boar's proximity, Lucas struggled to maintain his earlier rhythm. His chest pain
hindered his stride, eroding his focus and concentration. Inevitably, he tripped over a concealed
rock and crashed onto the forest floor. Desperation coursed through him as he scrambled to his
feet, only to lose his footing again on the muddy terrain.

Bracing himself for the boar's imminent charge, Lucas shut his eyes tightly, shielding his face
with his arms, preparing for the worst. But to his astonishment, nothing happened. Tentatively,
he opened his eyes, finding the same blond boy who had warned him earlier now engaged in a
fierce struggle with the boar. The boy had leaped to his defense, displaying bravery beyond
Lucas's comprehension. Armed with a knife, he relentlessly attacked the wild beast until it lay
lifeless on the ground.

The blond boy rose to his feet and approached Lucas. "Art thou in goodly state?" he asked,
employing an old English style of speech. Lucas, uncertain, responded, "I-I think I'm fine." With
that, the boy extended his hand and helped Lucas up from the ground. As Lucas stood, he
winced in pain and cleaned the dirt from his knees, discovering scratches on his shin in the
process.

Noticing Lucas's injuries, the boy, speaking like a character from a Shakespearean play, offered
his assistance. "Thou appearest wounded; once we arrive at my comrade's side, he shall lend
thee aid." With a hand covered in boar blood, he extended it for Lucas to shake, and Lucas
accepted. "Verily, I am Arthur, yet amongst companions, Art be my familiar name."

As they set off in a particular direction, Arthur inquired about Lucas's presence in the woodland.
"What dost thou in this woodland? I here do train, for few dare tread within its sacred bounds."
Lucas, sincerely answering, replied, "To be honest, I don't know. When I noticed, I was already
lost, walking in this forest."

Observing something unusual about Lucas, Arthur questioned, "Thou art not of these parts, I
prithee?" Perplexed by how the boy had discerned this, Lucas asked, "How do you know that?"
Arthur explained, "Thy manner of speech resembl'th that of my dearest friend, and thy raiment, I
must avouch, is unlike aught mine eyes e'er beheld afore." Although Lucas only understood the
first part, he pretended to comprehend the rest, continuing to follow Arthur through the forest.

Although the forest was like a maze, it seemed that Arthur knew exactly where he was and
where he was going. “So where are we?” Lucas asked. "We find ourselves in the vast Dark
Forest." Arthur said while bringing his arms up to show the majestic forest. “But isn’t it too
colorful to be the ‘Dark Forest’?” He asked because the forest was so colorful and full of light
even though the tree leafs impeded the light to reach inside it
"Such be the nature of its inner depths, concealed from sight. Beyond its confines, a foreboding
gloom pervades, earning it the name, the Dark Forest, wherein even the feeblest souls shun its
threshold." Arthur again spoke in his old English way and it took a minute for Lucas to fully
understand what he meant. “So basically on the outside it's terrifying and on the inside it’s
beautiful?” He reaffirmed. “So why is it that way?” Lucas became more intrigued by this weird
forest.
“That’s because this forest is magical and is filled with magical creatures and properties. So it
hides itself from potential predators.”