Velmorra was absolutely certain it was a respectable city.
Reality disagreed.
Cobbled streets curved between enchanted lamp posts, rune trams rattled past, and giant floating spell-billboards kept flickering between advertisements, political nonsense, and a stern announcement about illegal summoning etiquette. A magically animated broom chased a goose. The goose chased an elderly man. The elderly man loudly declared he would sue the city.
Aiden decided immediately that he loved this place.
"This town is trying so hard to pretend it's normal," he muttered as a vending crystal launched a can of soda like artillery, "and reality keeps patting it on the head and saying no."
Senior glided beside him as effortlessly as breathing. He floated because walking was something peasants did. His posture was perfect. His dignity was permanent.
"Mortals complicate their reality," Senior said calmly, "and then resent that it is complicated. It is… charming."
Velmorra wasn't silent.
It wasn't frantic.
It was alive.
And beneath the noise, beneath the humor, beneath the messy normalcy, there was Want.
Wishes lingered like warmth in winter air.
Aiden could feel them now. Not distinctly. Just pressure in the world. Gentle pulls.
It made his chest feel heavier and lighter at the same time.
They trained while walking.
Because apparently that was a thing now.
"Again," Senior instructed as calmly as if discussing the weather.
"Seriously? While I'm trying to exist?" Aiden groaned.
"We are always training."
Senior flicked two fingers. Fire bloomed. Small. Elegant. Completely controlled.
Aiden mimicked the movement.
A spark appeared.
Then panicked. Then flickered. Then hissed.
"My fire has stage fright," he muttered.
"Yes," Senior nodded pleasantly. "Like its caster."
The next cantrip was breath warmth.
Senior exhaled. A gentle wave of heat rolled like soft comfort.
Aiden inhaled deeply. Focused. Released.
The resulting blast startled three pigeons, a horse, and an offended wizard.
Aiden blinked. "…Progress?"
"Yes," Senior replied. "But perhaps do not breathe in public for a few minutes."
They continued with mending charms, balance charms, subtle politeness enhancement spells ("for your survival," Senior insisted), and several very necessary wake-up spells to avoid disaster.
Aiden wasn't perfect.
But he was learning.
And the world still wanted things.
He saw the baker first.
The man wasn't crying.
Wasn't begging.
He simply stared at empty tables with the quiet grief of someone trying not to break.
Aiden slipped into the café, bought pastries, overpaid, and layered three soft cantrips: warmth, ambient comfort, and subtle scent carry.
No wish power.
Just magic.
Just effort.
Just kindness.
Moments later, a traveling group passing outside slowed.
Argued.
Gave in.
And suddenly the bakery was full of laughter, conversation, and warmth again.
The baker's shoulders finally loosened.
Aiden left before he was thanked.
Senior didn't comment.
But he was watching.
Very closely.
The tavern was an accident.
The gambler was not.
He sat hunched at a table, face etched with exhaustion that felt older than him.
"Please," the man whispered to the dice. "Just once. Let something go right."
Aiden looked at Senior.
Senior inhaled the way beings who have lived too long inhale when they already know how this ends.
"No."
Aiden smiled gently and ignored him.
He did not touch Wish Power.
He used probability guidance. Distraction. Calm. Just enough tilt to give the man a chance.
The gambler rolled.
He won.
He rolled again.
He won again.
He stopped—thank every cosmic force—and walked away before greed invited tragedy.
Aiden almost felt proud.
Then the dealer sneezed.
Ale spilled.
Someone screamed about soup.
A chair flew.
Someone invoked honor.
A goose entered the scene and chose violence.
The tavern erupted.
Bar fight achieved.
They stood outside listening to shattering glass and emotional damage.
"That was not my fault," Aiden said calmly.
"No," Senior nodded. "That was mortals."
Then came the alley.
Then came the boy.
He couldn't have been older than eleven. Too thin. Too quiet. Too desperate.
He stared at a food vendor like he wanted to punch hunger in the face but lacked mass and emotional stability.
Aiden walked forward slowly.
The boy stiffened.
Didn't run.
Didn't move.
Just waited for the world to hurt him again.
"…Are you going to steal it?" Aiden asked softly.
The boy swallowed.
Nodded.
Just once.
Aiden glanced at Senior.
Senior remained silent.
That… somehow mattered.
Aiden knelt.
"Okay," he said gently. "Then you're not doing it alone."
He didn't preach.
Didn't shame.
Didn't moralize.
He helped.
Aiden layered distraction magic.
A sound misdirection spell.
A brief breeze.
Subtle invisibility flicker.
The vendor turned away for a fraction of a second.
The boy's hand moved like someone who had practiced because desperation was a tutor.
Bread vanished into his arms.
For once, the universe didn't scream back.
The boy stared at the food like it might disappear.
He looked at Aiden.
No words.
Just gratitude.
Sharp and raw.
He ran.
Aiden breathed out slowly.
"I helped a child steal," he whispered.
"Yes," Senior replied.
Aiden waited for condemnation.
Senior simply said:
"You helped him survive."
Aiden closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
That was enough.
He helped more people.
A bard.
A laundry carrier.
A scraped knee.
Magic.
Hands.
Presence.
He didn't feel drained.
He felt whole.
Later, at the overlook above Velmorra, the city breathed lights and life beneath them.
"That was… a good day," Aiden said quietly.
"Yes," Senior agreed.
"No doom. No divine moral hammer. No cosmic guilt."
"Yes."
"I feel… good."
Senior did not immediately respond.
Aiden frowned.
"…You're thinking again."
"Yes."
"What about?"
"You are stronger now."
Aiden blinked.
"I didn't use Wish Power."
"No."
"So… how?"
Senior looked forward. His voice softened. Old. Deep.
"Magic is ability," he said. "Wish Power is alignment. Today you answered Want without demanding the world obey. You chose restraint. Work. Compassion. That matters."
"So the universe… rewards granters for not abusing power?" Aiden asked.
"Yes."
"That's… annoyingly reasonable."
"Yes."
Then the sky billboard glitched.
Then exploded in blazing light.
MARRY ME, LENA!!!
Fireworks.
Magic birds.
Screaming.
Joy.
Three unrelated couples proposed.
Someone fainted dramatically.
A bard played romantic accompaniment uninvited.
Aiden stared.
"…Indirectly me?"
"Yes."
He laughed into his hands.
Senior Pov
He watched the boy.
Not with affection.
Not yet.
But with interest.
Real interest.
Curiosity sharpened into respect.
Respect threatening to become warmth.
He had expected patience.
Obligation.
Instruction.
Instead…
the boy surprised him.
He did not want to care.
He was beginning to.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Dangerously.
He stayed.
Not because he must.
Because something in him… wanted to see what Aiden would become.
And what the universe would dare do to him.
Back to Aiden
Velmorra glowed.
He didn't command fate.
Didn't bend destiny.
Didn't ruin lives.
He helped.
He learned.
He grew.
And far beyond mortal perception, the universe stamped a quiet approval into existence.
Not because he took power.
But because he earned it.
Even if cosmic bureaucracy insisted on paperwork.