Caelis, Selrien 20, Year 577 of the Elythera calendar

  Morning in Rulid dawned beneath a milky sky, with no sign of the sun as if the newly arrived winter had thrown a great veil of mist over the whole village. The hush of the streets mingled with the occasional creak of wood as the houses reacted to the chill of Glacien.

  In Sora’s room, the dimness was pierced only by fine threads of light slipping in around the edges of the curtains. A small lump shifted beneath the blankets: Sora was still tangled in his sheets as if they were an unbreachable fortress. Under them lingered a pleasant warmth, the remnant of the thermal spell his mother, Tsukari, set each night so he wouldn’t feel cold while he slept. It was a habit he never stopped appreciating, especially at this time of year.

  The spell wasn’t eternal; with dawn, the warmth began to dissipate, letting the room’s chill creep in like an unwelcome guest. Sora usually waited until the last moment to get up, right as the warmth vanished completely, but today he’d opened his eyes before that happened.

  For a few seconds he lay there without moving, watching the mist of his breath form small clouds in front of his face. It was tempting to shut his eyes and burrow back in, but he was already awake. Silence wrapped around him, broken only by a distant wooden groan and the wind murmuring against the shutters.

  With a lazy motion, he threw the blankets aside. The cold hit him at once, making his shoulders hunch as a shiver raced down his back. He pushed himself upright, letting his feet find the rug beside the bed. His parents had put it there a few years ago, after one winter morning he’d gotten up barefoot and caught a cold that kept him bedridden for days.

  Sora rubbed his hands, trying to coax some warmth back into them, and glanced toward the window. A faint film of fog blurred the glass. Glacien had definitely come to stay.

  Still a little drowsy, he walked to the small wardrobe by his desk. He started hunting for clothes fit for the season: a soft wool shirt, lined trousers, and thick socks. He even added a padded vest, the very one Tsukari had insisted he wear all winter long. Clothes in hand, he hesitated, eyes flicking to the bed as if tempted to return… but at last he sighed and began to dress.

  As he fastened the vest buttons, he wondered how many more times he’d have to go through this ritual before Solyesta’s warmth finally arrived. The answer wasn’t encouraging, but at least there was one upside: the living room hearth would be lit, and a hot breakfast would be waiting.

  Dressed and settled into his vest, Sora headed slowly downstairs, still adjusting to the chill that had chased him out of bed. The air inside the house was warmer than his room, but not enough to forget that winter outside was advancing with steady steps.

  When he reached the dining room, he found his parents already seated. Tsukari and Alvaron were speaking softly, as they did every morning, their voices mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. The light slipping in through the windows barely brightened the room, lending it a cozy air. Tsukari held a steaming cup of tea, and it didn’t take long for Sora to notice her belly looked more pronounced than just a few weeks ago. With each passing day, the arrival of the new family member felt closer.

  “Good morning,” Sora greeted, still a little sleepy.

  His parents returned the greeting with warm smiles. Then Tsukari, a mischievous glint in her eyes, said:

  “Happy second day of your birthday, Sora!”

  Sora blinked, confused for a beat. He was about to ask what she meant… until he remembered: for years now, because of their close birthdates and the bond between the families, his birthday and Nanami’s were celebrated together. His had been yesterday, and today—Selrien 20—was her turn.

  “Thanks…” he replied with a slightly awkward smile, scratching his head.

  Just then, Aeris appeared with the breakfast tray, setting out plates with her usual efficiency. As she passed Sora, she gave him a smile and her own congratulation, punctuating it with a light pat on the shoulder.

  The table was set within minutes. The aroma of freshly baked bread and hot soup filled the room. Sora took his seat and began to eat, savoring the warmth seeping back into his body. That was when Tsukari, with suspicious calm, set her cup down and looked at him directly.

  “So then, Sora… do you have Nanami’s present ready?”

  The words hit his mind like a bucket of ice water. For an instant his face froze, and his spoon hung midway to his mouth. The memory blindsided him: since last year, he and Nanami had made a habit of exchanging handmade gifts. Simple things for their age—drawings, little wooden figures, bracelets—but they were always special gestures that excited them both… especially Nanami.

  And he… had completely forgotten.

  Tsukari, seeing her son’s expression, brought a hand to her lips to stifle a laugh.

  “So you forgot…” she said between giggles. “You’re going to be in trouble, Sora. Unless, of course, your mother helps you with that.”

  That impish smile did not bode well. Sora swallowed hard. He knew he had no choice: if he wanted to save the situation, he’d have to accept Tsukari’s help.

  “Alright…” he said at last, lowering his head a little as a faint blush crept into his cheeks. “I’ll leave it to you, Mom…”

  Hearing his answer, Tsukari gave him a broad, proud smile the kind that showed how much she liked it when her son trusted and depended on her at times like this. For Sora, that same smile was a warning sign. He knew that sparkle in his mother’s eyes all too well: it meant she was already plotting something. And though he had no idea what, he had no option but to trust her and hope for the best.

  Breakfast passed without further incident, warmed by the hearth and the gentle aroma of the herbal tea Tsukari liked to brew on cold Glacien mornings. When they finished, Sora rose from the table and headed for the stairs. Before he could make it all the way up, his mother’s voice stopped him.

  “Nanami will come over a little after lunch,” she informed him. “Her family will stay so we can celebrate the birthdays together, as always. So you’ll have the whole morning to yourself.”

  Sora nodded, and though he didn’t say it out loud, that news was perfect: he had a few hours before everyone arrived, and he could use them to keep practicing in secret.

  He went up to his room, closed the door carefully, and sat by his desk. Over the last month he’d picked up a small hidden routine: practicing a basic spell he’d started experimenting with after reading that book on magical fundamentals. At first he’d barely managed a spark, but with patience and daily practice, he could now call up a small, steady flame between his hands.

  He’d even started experimenting with its size. Just a few days ago he’d managed to increase the intensity and with it, the flame’s size… though the experiment almost ended in disaster when, through carelessness, the flame brushed the corner of the rug. The burn was small and easy to hide, but the lesson was clear: I’ll take it step by step, ramping up the power gradually to avoid a bigger accident.

  He settled on the floor, legs crossed as usual, and rested his hands on his lap. Closing his eyes, he felt the flow of mana running through his body, focusing on that familiar warmth that now felt almost natural.

  Today, though, he had a clear goal: perfect his control before Nanami arrived.

  Sora spent the rest of the morning absorbed in practice, so focused on every shift of energy and the growing heat between his hands that he didn’t notice how time slipped by unchecked. The quiet of his room, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth downstairs, became his little refuge until a gentle knock at the door snapped him out of his trance.

  “Sora, it’s time for lunch,” Aeris’s voice rang clear from the other side.

  He immediately let the flame fade, hiding any trace of his exercise, and got up to open the door.

  Lunch passed without anything out of the ordinary, save for Tsukari’s knowing looks and comments. With that mischievous smile so characteristic of her, she made sure to “innocently” remind him carefully, yet calculatedly that he’d forgotten to prepare his gift for Nanami. There was no doubt she had everything under control, but she enjoyed watching him blush and squirm in his seat.

  When they finished, Alvaron set his teacup on the table and looked at his son with a different glint in his eyes.

  “Son, do you want to take advantage of the break in the snow and play in the yard for a while?”

  Sora blinked, surprised. Invitations like that didn’t come every day. His father, always busy with his duties as Rulid’s lord, rarely had time for moments like this. Winter was the exception, travel and meetings slackened, and he could stay home longer.

  “Of course!” Sora answered, almost without thinking.

  The two of them headed for the back door. The moment they crossed the threshold, a blade of icy air greeted them. Sora drew a deep breath, letting the cold sting his nose and lungs.

  The yard was blanketed in a soft layer of snow—not too deep, but enough to cover the grass completely. The nearby trees wore a delicate white mantle, and the old table where he and Nanami used to practice reading under Aeris’s guidance was now sheeted in a uniform coat of frost.

  Thankfully, Sora was wearing the gloves Tsukari had knitted him a few weeks earlier, during the spare moments her pregnancy allowed before Glacien began. The thick yet flexible weave kept his hands safe from the cold.

  Alvaron took a few steps across the snow, which crunched softly under his boots, then turned back to him with a calm smile.

  “Alright, son…” he said, in that tone that mixed warmth with a hint of conspiratorial fun, “how about we do something we haven’t done in a long time?”

  Sora tilted his head, curious.

  “What do you have in mind, Father?”

  With a proud smile that only sharpened his air of protective parent, Alvaron set a hand on Sora’s shoulder.

  “Wait here a moment, son. I need to fetch something from inside.”

  Sora watched him with curiosity, having no idea what he was up to, but nodded. He watched his father disappear through the back door, leaving a trail of fresh footprints in the snow. Quiet returned to the yard, accompanied only by the far-off whisper of wind through bare branches.

  A few minutes later, the door opened again. Alvaron stepped out holding something long, carefully wrapped in a thick cloth and secured with a simple ribbon at the top. The shape elongated and a little rigid only deepened Sora’s intrigue; he tilted his head, trying to puzzle it out.

  His father came up to him and, instead of remaining standing, crouched to meet him at eye level. Pride and affection mingled on his face.

  “Happy birthday, son,” he said, voice low but warm, as he held out the wrapped bundle. “I hope you like it.”

  Sora blinked a couple of times, surprised. He took the package with great care. The cloth felt a little cold from the trip outside, and the ribbon’s knot yielded easily beneath his small fingers.

  When he pulled the wrapping away, his eyes went wide: it was a finely carved wooden sword, sheathed in a simple leather scabbard. The grip, though plain, had a smooth finish and was sized for small hands clearly crafted with him in mind.

  For a moment, Sora was at a loss for words. He couldn’t remember the last time a gift hit him this hard and he didn’t mean as little Sora; in these five years he’d received plenty from his parents. No, this felt different: it was the first time since regaining the memories of his past life that someone had given him something like this, something that touched a deeper place inside.

  He drew a steady breath and, with a seriousness that didn’t quite match his age, bowed slightly, trying to imitate the etiquette of the knights he’d read so much about.

  “Thank you very much, Father.”

  Alvaron watched him in silence for a moment, then let out a satisfied chuckle. He leaned forward and ruffled Sora’s hair with a firm, affectionate hand.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he said simply, though his eyes held something more: quiet pride, and the bright hope of watching his son grow with that spirit.

  After the handoff that left Sora’s heart brimming, Alvaron straightened and with a gesture that felt almost rehearsed, reached to his own waist. That’s when Sora noticed a detail he’d missed the moment his father returned with the gift: Alvaron, too, wore a sword… wooden, of course, but sized for a man.

  The roguish glint in his father’s eyes was enough for Sora to understand what was coming.

  “How about it, son?” Alvaron said, voice firm but tinged with enthusiasm. “Shall we christen it with a bout, you and I?”

  Heat rushed through Sora’s veins. This was far too good to pass up. He nodded at once and, almost in the same motion, drew his new sword. The crisp scrape of wood leaving the scabbard sounded glorious to him, as if he were drawing a real blade.

  Alvaron followed suit, unhurried, unsheathing his own. His stance looked relaxed, but there was a natural precision in his movements that spoke of years of training. He knew this would be a game, and that his son however determined didn’t have the strength or technique to hurt him… but that didn’t mean he’d take it lightly. In his mind, he was already shaping the moment into a neat lesson.

  Sora, on the other hand, was completely in character. He planted himself before his father and, gripping the hilt with both hands, assumed a stance he’d seen countless times in anime and the video games of his previous life: feet apart, knees lightly bent, the tip of the sword leveled at his opponent’s chest. Just like that, center line, steady breath. Don’t blink.

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  The contrast was almost comical: on one side, a five-year-old boy with a grave stare, trying to recreate from memory what he considered legendary stances; on the other, a seasoned warrior who couldn’t help the quick smile and soft laugh the sight drew from him.

  “Well now, son… looks like you’re taking this very seriously,” he said, somewhere between fond teasing and admiration.

  Sora said nothing, holding his “combat face” like he was about to star in the duel of a lifetime.

  “Begin whenever you like,” Alvaron added, straightening his posture and lifting his sword to await the first strike.

  The moment the words gave him the go-ahead, Sora didn’t hesitate. With a half-stifled shout, he dashed at his father, closing the distance in quick steps that kicked little puffs of snow into the air. The cold didn’t seem to touch him; adrenaline had him blazing.

  His first swings were clumsy, clearly the swings of someone who’d never wielded a sword with real purpose but they had something you can’t fake: weight. Each time wood smacked wood, the hollow thud rang out with more force than Alvaron had expected.

  Strangest of all was how Sora, without any real technique, tried to reproduce moves that were epic in his head: slight pivots, quick changes of direction, even feints straight out of an anime. They didn’t always land the way he imagined, but every so often he found a bit of flow that made his father lift a brow.

  Alvaron blocked everything without the slightest effort, precise, fluid, without waste. Even so, to add a touch of realism, he’d toss out a measured counter here and there: fast enough to force Sora to react, never truly dangerous.

  To the knight’s surprise, the boy didn’t just keep swinging, he gradually started landing more accurate attacks. He even managed to parry several of Alvaron’s counters. Some of those had been designed to be easy to stop… but not all of them and Sora still turned them aside. Hmm… interesting, Alvaron thought, noting the boy’s natural combat sense, an unexpected blend of attitude and reflex for his age.

  Their impromptu match carried on in a lively sway of blows and guards. Laughter mingled with the clack of wood, and with each strike Sora seemed to forget the cold entirely.

  When the bout hit its peak, Sora went for a straight thrust, throwing his weight forward, only for the icy ground to betray him. One foot slipped, his balance vanished, and he toppled backward into the snow, sending up a small white burst as his wooden sword spun out and thumped down nearby.

  He lay there a beat, staring up at the gray sky, then a bright, contagious laugh burst out of him. Alvaron, who had stepped in quickly in case he was hurt, ended up laughing too. More than a duel, the scene looked like an improvised winter comedy.

  After laughing a while about the tumble, Alvaron leaned toward his son and offered his hand, which Sora took at once with a smile. With a firm yet gentle tug, he helped him to his feet.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the lord of Rulid… you really are strong, Father,” Sora said, eyes shining, his cheeks still a little red from the cold.

  Alvaron let out a short, proud chuckle.

  “Yeah, but the way you fought was a surprise. I didn’t expect you to be that skilled… have you been training in secret with some master in the afternoons?” he asked, feigning suspicion before adding with a mischievous smile, “Or is Aeris the one teaching you swordplay in secret?”

  Sora shook his head, but his father’s impish smile didn’t fade.

  “It’s clear that with proper training, you’ll grow into a fine swordsman, Sora.”

  The boy didn’t answer with words; instead, he flashed a broad, energetic grin that said everything.

  Satisfied, Alvaron took his wooden sword and, with a smooth, elegant motion, slid it back into the leather sheath at his hip. Sora chose something more “heroic” in his own way: he settled his sheath across his back and tried to imitate a move he’d seen a thousand times in his favorite anime, the kind where the protagonist carries two crossed blades. He gripped the weapon in one hand, flicked it to the side as if clearing dirt from the edge, then swept it over his shoulder until it clicked into place.

  Alvaron watched with one brow lifted, a touch of surprise in his face. Between what he’d seen during the bout and now this peculiar flourish, he couldn’t help wondering where Sora got those ideas… but in the end he decided not to dwell on it.

  “Well then, son, I think that’s enough training for today,” he said warmly. “Let’s head back inside.”

  Sora nodded at once and walked beside him, their footprints pressing a twin trail into the white mantle of snow while the warmth of home waited at the end of the path.

  They stepped back into the house, leaving behind the crunch of snow under their boots and the icy air that slipped through the door as it closed. The change in temperature was immediate; the gentle heat ruling the home wrapped them both like an invisible blanket.

  In the sitting room, Tsukari watched them from the couch with a radiant smile. Her hands rested over her ever-more-pronounced belly, her eyes following their every step. From her expression, it was clear she’d heard much of their training outside—the laughter and the clack of wooden swords. It warmed her heart; in recent months, Alvaron had rarely had time to share moments like this with his son because of his duties as lord of Rulid.

  “Well now, it sounds like someone had fun out there,” Tsukari teased.

  Father and son dropped onto the nearby chairs to catch their breath, cheeks still a little pink from cold and excitement. Between laughs, they began recounting their duel, Sora exaggerating his “feats,” and Alvaron gently correcting him with a proud smile.

  Tsukari listened closely, tossing in the occasional joke that set both of them laughing again. The room filled with that warm, familiar ease, as if for a moment the weight of obligations and worries had simply faded away.

  The conversation flowed like that for a while, until Nanami’s family arrived. Tsukari and Alvaron welcomed them as the old friends they were. As always, Nanami greeted Sora with the warm smile he’d grown so used to.

  She stepped up to him after saying hello, her hands hidden behind her back. Sora could already guess why, but he didn’t interrupt. Then, with a quick flourish, she revealed what she’d been hiding.

  “Happy birthday, Sora!” Nanami said, offering him a small bundle wrapped in simple cloth.

  Sora accepted it with shining gratitude, that energetic smile they always shared lighting up his face.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked, brimming with excitement.

  Taking it as an order, Sora loosened the wrapping. Inside, neatly folded, was a soft wool scarf in a warm, earthy tone, much like the colors Nanami often wore. The stitching was a little uneven, the kind that betrayed careful, handmade effort; to Sora, that made it all the more precious.

  “I made it myself,” Nanami said, cheeks tinting as nerves fluttered in her voice. “Mom helped a little, but… most of it is mine.”

  Sora unfurled it and noticed, at one end, a small embroidery done in finer white thread: a bird with outstretched wings, like the little flock that had circled them the first time they’d gone to the Whitecrest Tree. The detail tightened something warm in his chest.

  “Nanami…” he murmured, grinning wide. “It’s… perfect.”

  She smiled in relief, and Sora, without hesitating, looped the scarf around his neck, beaming so brightly his eyes nearly closed.

  “Now I definitely won’t freeze in Glacien,” he joked but inside, he tucked away a quiet promise: Someday, I’ll give you a present that makes you smile just like this.

  Nanami was delighted with his reaction; she felt all her effort had been worth it… yet she kept glancing at him, expectant, as if waiting for something more.

  For an instant, Sora froze, mind blank and, almost by instinct, his gaze darted to Tsukari.

  With a conspiratorial smile, she diverted Nanami with a casual question while discreetly pointing,so their guest wouldn’t notice,toward the sofa they’d been sitting on.

  There rested a small bundle, wrapped in linen and tied with a pink ribbon. Sora snatched it up and, mirroring Nanami’s earlier flourish, approached with his hands hidden behind his back.

  “Happy birthday, Nanami!” he said, revealing the gift.

  She accepted it with a mix of excitement and surprise, immediately slipping off the ribbon and the wrap. Inside was a simple box and what lay within made her eyes light up: a delicate silver necklace, gemless, but finely and elegantly crafted.

  “It’s beautiful…” she breathed, looking at Sora with clear expectation.

  He blinked, confused until Alvaron, wearing a half-smile, leaned down to whisper in his ear:

  “Sora… when a boy gives a girl a necklace, he should put it on her himself.”

  Heat shot to his cheeks. There was no retreat. No turning back now.

  He swallowed, took the necklace, and with slightly unsteady steps moved behind Nanami. Without a word, she lifted her hair with both hands to give him room.

  Carefully and still blushing Sora slipped the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp. When Nanami let her hair fall and spun in place to “show it off,” her smile radiated a joy that seemed to fill the whole room.

  All the while, Tsukari was writhing with tenderness on the sofa, barely restraining the urge to comment.

  Inside, Sora understood perfectly why his mother had been so insistent: it had all been a carefully prepared plan. And though the whole thing had left him burning with embarrassment… it was a price he gladly paid for forgetting Nanami’s gift.

  Nanami’s parents were just as delighted by the necklace scene clear in the conspiratorial smiles they shared as they watched.

  After that, everyone shifted naturally into celebration. There was no music or flashy décor like the birthday parties from the modern world Sora once knew, but the air was thick with warmth and closeness.

  In the kitchen, Liora and Tsukari moved as if they’d been neighbors for a lifetime, chatting and laughing while helping Aeris with the preparations. Though the house had other servants, the two women seemed to enjoy these moments chopping, seasoning, and taste-testing like they were sharing a secret.

  In the sitting room, Kael and Alvaron swapped tales of former glory battles, journeys, and youthful exploits, each story punctuated by booming laughter and theatrical gestures that made even those listening from afar crack up.

  Meanwhile, Sora and Nanami dashed through the house, sometimes chasing each other, sometimes inventing little contests. Nanami’s laughter rang down the hallways clear and sincere and Sora felt that sound settle warmly in his chest.

  The house itself seemed steeped in a special kind of warmth. Sora didn’t know why, but watching it all the conversations, the laughter, the aroma of food, the company, the sense of belonging, made his heart feel strangely full.

  Yet along with that warmth came a bitter echo. Images from his previous life slid across his mind: birthdays spent in front of a computer monitor after yet another day of work; no party, no cake, no voice saying “happy birthday” beyond an auto-generated ping on social media.

  He also remembered how, in that other childhood, those days had once been different,bright with small surprises only to fade, year by year, into dates he preferred to ignore.

  The comparison to now was unavoidable… and the contrast squeezed at his chest. This moment, this house, these people is too precious to let slip away.

  A quiet resolve welled up inside him: I’ll treasure every second of this and no matter what happens, I’ll make sure I can always live days like this again.

  A little later, as night began to wrap Rulid, everyone gathered around the table for the feast Tsukari, Liora, and Aeris had prepared with such care. Steaming stews filled the room with comforting aromas, fresh-baked loaves, roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables set out in generous abundance for the seven gathered there.

  During the meal, conversation flowed on a current of laughter and anecdotes. Liora and Tsukari, seated side by side, didn’t miss the chance with that motherly tenderness only mothers can pretend is casual to remark on how adorable Sora had been when he gave Nanami her gift. He, unable to hide his embarrassment, wound up pouting as he tried to defend himself… which only sparked more laughter around the table.

  When the feast was nearly finished, Aeris emerged from the kitchen carrying a neatly decorated round cake. It wasn’t overly large, but more than enough for everyone to have a slice. She set it in the center of the table with a proud smile.

  “This is for my two favorite students… and also for my little siblings,” she announced warmly.

  In Elythera, birthdays were rarely celebrated with cakes. It wasn’t a common tradition outside a few noble circles that had adopted the custom only a few decades ago. For Sora, the sight lit a fleeting spark of curiosity. If that isn’t common in this world… how did they think of it? Could it be…?

  Before he could chase that line of thought, Nanami grabbed his hand and, giving him no chance to refuse, tugged him straight to Aeris. Together they hugged her tight, a gesture the young woman returned with immediate tenderness. She was used to these sudden bursts of affection from the two of them, yet they made her smile the same way every time.

  Without further ceremony, they moved on to cutting the cake. Sora watched closely, noting the lack of candles or a song. It wasn’t disappointmentm just curiosity. Just like that? Who would invent this custom without finishing it the way it’s supposed to be…?

  Once the cake was sliced, everyone dug in. The very first bite drew smiles and murmurs of approval. No doubt about it: Aeris had nailed the flavor. Compliments came from all sides, and though she tried to play it cool, her cheeks colored a gentle pink. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she answered simply, “It was my pleasure.”

  The evening rolled on with easy chatter and laughter around the table. At one point, Sora and Nanami got up and headed for the sitting room. There, Sora pulled out some paper and charcoal, setting up the pastime that connected them most: their drawing sessions. Nanami, that familiar spark for art bright in her eyes, sat beside him and took up a charcoal stick with delicate fingers.

  As lines began to take shape on the paper, Nanami still focused on her drawing suddenly said, “I really liked your present… but it was Lady Tsukari’s idea, wasn’t it?”

  Sora went still for a moment. It didn’t sound like a reproach, but there was a faint shadow of a missed expectation in her tone. He could have denied it or made something up… yet deep down he knew that wouldn’t be fair to her.

  “The truth is…” he lowered his voice a little, “I forgot to prepare something for you, and I didn’t know what to do.”

  Nanami glanced up just a little, watching him from the corner of her eye. Her lips curved into a small smile.

  “I’ll accept it, Sora… mainly because you took responsibility. And… you acted like a gentleman when you gave it to me.”

  A soft blush rose to her cheeks, and she quickly fixed her eyes on her drawing again, as if the lines could hide the embarrassment in her words.

  Sora watched her for a beat, a different, hard-to-name warmth blooming in his chest. Then he smiled.

  “I promise I’ll make you something myself next year, Nanami. I loved the gift you gave me.”

  This time she met his gaze head-on and nodded with a gentle smile. That small exchange etched itself into Sora’s memory as the start of a promise he intended to keep every year, no matter what.

  After that conversation and the promise they’d made, Sora and Nanami went back to playing as always, letting the hours slip by almost without noticing. Eventually it was time for Nanami and her parents to head home. Everyone gathered at the entryway to say goodbye, trading warm words and smiles.

  Sora and Nanami shared one last look before parting. She toyed with the necklace he had given her, rolling it between her fingers, while Sora did the same with the scarf he’d received from her. They didn’t need to say it: both of them were delighted with their gifts, no matter the circumstances around them.

  Once Nanami’s family had gone, Tsukari walked up to her son with a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

  “Did you like the present I found for her?” she asked, clearly expecting him to blush as usual.

  But Sora surprised her this time. Instead of getting flustered, he hugged her tight and thanked her with all his heart. For a moment it was Tsukari who was thrown off, but she immediately returned the hug with tenderness.

  “There’s still one more gift, sweetheart. Wait here a moment,” she said, ruffling his hair before heading for the study.

  Sora remained standing in the sitting room, curiosity alight and his heartbeat a touch faster. He couldn’t help the mix of anticipation and excitement. Before long, Tsukari returned with something wrapped in her hands: a package about the size of a book, not very thick, but clearly handled with care.

  “Happy birthday, my son. Did you really think your mother wouldn’t give you anything?” she teased, eyes glinting.

  Sora took the package and hugged her again, thanking her sincerely. Then he began to unwrap it carefully.

  The instant he saw the cover, his eyes widened in astonishment: it was a book. On the front were characters unfamiliar to him and a symbol he’d spotted before among some of his mother’s belongings. He knew it was connected to the Vasto Sapiens.

  He looked up at Tsukari, and she, moved by his reaction, said, “Since you learned to read thanks to Aeris, I thought it was a good time to give you this. Take a look, dear.”

  Sora didn’t waste a second. He sat down and, with eager hands, began to leaf through the book, unaware he was about to open a new door on his path.

  After skimming the first page, which read like an introduction, Sora quickly grasped the subject: it spoke about the customs of the Vasto Sapiens, their beliefs, their way of life… but among all those words, one leapt out and struck his mind like a spark on dry tinder: Polimorfis.

  Just seeing the term made him straighten in his seat, heart beating faster. He looked up at Tsukari, who watched him with a calm smile, as if she’d been waiting for this exact moment.

  “Your father and I talked about it,” she said, voice soft yet firm. “Normally it’s taught to older children starting around nine but we believe that you, who even learned to read ahead of time, are already ready to learn to use Polimorfis, my son. So make good use of that book… because I’m going to teach you how to do it myself.”

  Tsukari’s words crashed through Sora’s mind like thunder, sending his excitement soaring. At last his mother would teach him magic and not just any spell, but one that would let him see beyond… beyond the walls of his home, beyond even the Whitecrest Tree where he so often slipped away with Nanami.

  A surge of gratitude welled up, and for the third time that night he hugged his mother tightly. Tsukari returned the embrace, gently stroking his hair.

  In that instant, Sora felt the world open just a little wider before him… and that the next step on his path had just begun.