The morning mist curled lazily over the ruined mansion. The air was cold, thin, and carried the faint scent of ash that never seemed to fade, no matter how many days passed. I sat alone on the same mountain slope where my family's mansion once stood—what used to be home now reduced to crumbling stone and charred beams.
The wind whispered faintly through the ruins, brushing past my hair as I looked down at the village far below. Smoke from early morning fires rose from chimneys, twisting gently into the brightening sky. People were starting their day—bakers, farmers, merchants—while I remained still, trapped in memories of a life long gone.
I had been sitting there since dawn. The cold bit through my clothes, but I couldn't bring myself to move. My uncle's words from last night echoed in my head:
"Your mother's clan was proud, but she was born without spiritual roots. She married your father because she was exiled from her own blood."
Those words carved something sharp in my chest. I didn't know whether to feel pity or anger.
Footsteps crunched behind me. I didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Hey," Jeff's voice called softly. "You've been here all night, haven't you?"
I didn't answer. My eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. The sun was rising, painting the sky in streaks of gold and crimson. It reminded me of my father's hair, of mornings when he trained me until my hands bled.
Jeff sighed and sat down beside me. His white skin gleamed faintly in the sunlight, his messy golden hair catching every ray. His eyes—one red, one black—were as strange as ever, but they carried a calm warmth.
"Still brooding, huh?" he said, forcing a grin.
"Just… thinking," I muttered.
He stretched his arms lazily. "About your family?"
"Yeah. About everything."
There was a pause. The world seemed so quiet—only the rustling wind and distant bird calls filled the silence. Then Jeff leaned forward, plucked a small stone, and began rolling it between his fingers.
"You know," he said, "back in my world, I'd always do this when I felt lost. Fidget with something small, focus on it until I calm down. Worked… sometimes."
I glanced at him. "Back in your world?"
"Yeah," he said, chuckling softly. "I was from the Philippines. Pretty ordinary life, I guess. Poor family, but we were happy. I had two younger siblings—annoying but cute. And parents who worked too much but still smiled every morning."
He smiled faintly, looking away as if seeing that world again. "I died saving a girl. Dumb, right? I didn't even think. Just jumped. Next thing I knew, I was here, freezing my butt off in this magic-filled world."
I turned to him. "You… died saving someone?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "Guess I got a second chance."
For a while, neither of us spoke. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a small orange flame sparked into his hand. It burned gently, lighting up his face.
"Magic," he said proudly. "Cool, huh?"
I blinked, momentarily distracted. "How—how did you do that?"
He grinned. "Simple. First, you feel the mana around you—like the air, but heavier. Then you pull it in, mix it with intent, and say the words."
He took a breath and muttered softly, "Ignis ardet." The flame grew brighter, dancing in his palm like a living thing.
My eyes widened. "Incredible…"
"Maybe I can teach you," he said with a playful smirk. "If you're a good student."
"Me? Learn magic?" I frowned. "I can't even sense mana. I'm just… a martial artist."
"Don't be so sure," Jeff said, tossing the flame up and letting it vanish. "Everyone's got a spark. You just need to find yours."
I hesitated, but curiosity got the better of me. "Tell me more."
Jeff leaned back, resting his hands behind him. "Alright, lesson one. There are seven basic attributes. Light and darkness—those are special, rare ones. Then you've got the big four: earth, fire, water, and wind. Lastly, nature magic—being one with the world around you. Trees, animals, even the ground beneath your feet—it all connects to nature magic."
He looked proud as he spoke, like a teacher showing off his favorite lesson.
I nodded slowly. "So your magic… it's fire?"
"Yup," he said, grinning. "Fire suits me. Hot, flashy, unpredictable—but warm if you don't get too close. Just like me."
I chuckled softly. "You're more like an annoying ember that won't die."
"Hey!" he said, pretending to be offended. "At least I'm a good-looking ember!"
That actually made me laugh—something I hadn't done in days. The sound felt strange in my throat, rusty and unfamiliar, but it lightened the heaviness inside me.
As the sun climbed higher, Jeff and I sat there in comfortable silence. The ruins behind us seemed less haunting, the air less cold.
For a brief moment, it almost felt like peace.
Jeff stretched, yawning. "You know, Fan Ling, you really need to stop sitting out here like a ghost. You'll catch a cold or something."
"I'm fine," I said. "Just… trying to understand what to do next."
He looked at me for a long moment, then said softly, "Then don't think too much. Just live for today. We'll figure the rest out later."
The wind brushed past us again, carrying the scent of ash mixed with the faint sweetness of blooming grass.
I looked up at the sky one last time, the rising sun bright against my eyes. Maybe Jeff was right. Maybe not everything needed an answer right away.
For now… sitting there with a friend, watching a new day rise over the ruins of the past—that was enough.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the pain and the loss, I felt something stir.
A faint spark.
Like the beginning of a flame.