Two months into my nightly secret training, I had achieved several important milestones:
– Burned only half a curtain.
– Summoned a shadow creature that didn't bite me.
– Learned how to dodge maids with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel.
My proudest moment? I cast a functional shadow bind spell.
My worst moment? Said spell lassoed my own foot.
> Progress comes in strange packages.
---
That night, I was practicing shadow manipulation in the greenhouse again. The moonlight made it perfect for spellwork — and the faint smell of tomatoes masked the scent of burnt magic.
I whispered, "Umbra Thread."
A shadow extended like a ribbon, twisting around the vines.
Yes!
Then it flicked back and slapped me in the face.
Again.
Why do my spells keep doing that!?
---
"Shadow magic is elegant and precise," I muttered, brushing off a leaf. "Not personal."
Still, it was an improvement. Two months ago, my own shadow tried to strangle me with a garden rake. So this was practically affection.
I grinned at the thought—then froze.
Rustling. Footsteps.
I ducked behind a tomato bush.
A maid stepped into the greenhouse, lantern in hand, brow furrowed.
"Strange… I could've sworn I heard something."
I held my breath. Even my shadow stilled.
"Probably a ghost," she muttered, shivering, and left in a hurry.
> Maid Suspect Level: Rising.
---
Later that week, I nearly got caught again.
Apparently, dodging maids only works when you're not covered in glitter from a misfired spell called Shadow Sparkle.
(It sounds cooler than it is. Very itchy.)
I had to jump into a laundry cart and pretend to be folded bedsheets.
The head maid, Miss Fern, started giving me looks.
---
"Suspicious," she said, watching me carry a perfectly ordinary fork.
"It's for… pudding," I replied.
"We're not having pudding."
"Then… sabotage?"
She didn't believe me, but I think she respected the effort.
---
That night, I scribbled in my top-secret notebook:
"Operation Magical Glow-Up – Week 8"
✔ Less fire.
✔ More shadow.
✔ Avoid glitter spells.
✔ Do not train near tomato plants again.
✘ Fork not an actual wand, but surprisingly effective.
I drew a little mustached shadow creature in the margin. He looked smug.
---
Later, I sat by the window and thought about the scroll again.
There were only three recorded multi-elementals in history.
Three. That was it.
And yet — I knew two more.
> The heroine and the villainess.
Both multi-elemental. Both incredibly powerful.
But no one in this world knew.
Except me.
> That was my secret weapon.
---
That evening, I found Father waiting in the hallway outside the greenhouse.
Uh-oh.
His arms were crossed. His expression: Iron Wolf Mode.
"You've been sneaking out," he said. Not a question.
"I… was looking for pudding?"
He sighed and rubbed his temple.
"You've been training magic," he said. Still not a question.
I bit my lip.
"I just want to get stronger," I admitted. "I don't want to be… useless."
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, to my surprise, he knelt down.
"You are not useless, Celia," he said quietly. "Not to me."
My eyes stung.
"But—my magic is weak. My stats are horrible. I slapped myself with a shadow thread just this morning—"
"Then you'll train until you don't," he said simply.
My heart squeezed.
He stood and turned.
"Next time, wear a cloak. And don't train near flammable vegetables."
Wait—
Did that mean…?
> Father knew.
He knew this whole time.
And he let me do it anyway.
My brain exploded a little from the emotional whiplash.
---
That night, I sat in bed with a bruised toe, a happy heart, and a half-burned sock.
Progress wasn't perfect. My magic still had a 20% chance of backfiring and a 10% chance of glittering.
But I was getting better.
> Slowly. Secretly. And maybe, just maybe… not entirely alone.