I woke up with one single thought: Evening. Pie. Happiness.

  Cloudy, of course, was already busy tormenting the water in the basin, honing her control.

  "Hooray! Today I finally get to eat something that gives life meaning!" I nearly broke into a dance.

  "Why are you so noisy?" she granted me a short glance. "It’s just more food. Pointless."

  "What do you mean 'just food'?!" I was genuinely indignant. "Food is the only kind of magic that always works on everyone. It’s pure joy. And here—a whole pie! With raspberries!"

  She only grumbled gloomily that she didn't understand my idiocy. And I didn't understand hers. How can someone be so... empty?

  When the sun crawled to its zenith, I started walking in circles around the clearing.

  "Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Enough wetting your hands, it’s time to feed the stomach!"

  SPLASH!

  A heavy ball of water hit me right in the face. Cold and wet.

  "If you want it that bad—go," Cloudy cut me off.

  I wiped my face with my sleeve, feeling everything inside me clench from the injustice.

  "Dammit... Why are you always so prickly? Your words actually hurt me. Human-style hurt."

  "I don't care," she tossed back, not turning around.

  I trudged toward the village, kicking every stone in my path. I kicked them viciously. Well, fine, let her sit here and gnaw on bark. What a brat she is...

  Just as I was leaving the forest, I heard familiar footsteps. Cloudy had caught up after all. She walked with a look of maximum indifference, staring off somewhere to the side.

  "Fine," she said. "I want to try this 'pie' of yours too. Purely out of interest. To see what this thing is that makes you so loud."

  A smile spread across my face. It seemed my good mood annoyed her even more than my magic advice.

  We reached the old man’s house. I knocked. Silence. I knocked more insistently. Again.

  Grumbling came from behind the door:

  "I’m coming, I’m coming! What the devil are you pounding for?"

  The door opened. Gramps saw us and his eyes bulged.

  "Gramps, where’s the pie?" I asked instead of a greeting.

  "Young man, I told you—this evening! What’s the rush? Since you’ve barged in so early—come in, sit at the table."

  We entered. An old woman was bustling in the kitchen—withered, but with very lively, sharp eyes.

  "So these are the guests you were droning on about all morning?" she looked us over. "Oh, they're just kids. Old man, are you sure they're mages?"

  I didn't argue. I simply lifted an empty mug from the table without touching it and made it spin slowly in the air. Then I gave a wide grin:

  "Is this enough as payment for the pie?"

  The old woman gasped, throwing up her hands.

  "Oh, they really are mages... But so young! And such control... What are your names, children?"

  "I’m Zenhald," I answered proudly. "And she’s... Cloudy."

  WHACK!

  She kicked me under the table so hard I nearly bit my tongue.

  "Ahem... My name is..." her eyes darted feverishly around the room. She didn't even know how to read, so she was desperately looking for something to cling to. "Aurora. Yes. Exactly. My name is Aurora."

  "What a beautiful name, child!" the old woman cooed.

  "Hey! What about praising me?" I protested.

  "You have a good name too, sonny. Rare."

  "I see you know something about magic yourself?" Aurora asked, squinting.

  The old lady sighed, sitting on a bench.

  "A long time ago, I was a combat mage. I saw so much horror that one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I became a healer, tried to fix what I had done, and then eventually gave it all up. I moved to this wilderness to live out my remaining days in peace. So yes, child, I understand the kind of power you carry."

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "And I’ll add," gramps chimed in, "I served too. Until a lead bullet from one of those new weapons hit me in the gut. Thought I’d kick the bucket, but I turned out to be a survivor!"

  They looked at each other, burst into laughter at some old shared memory, and... kissed each other on the cheek.

  "EW!" I winced. "Right in front of guests? Have some decency!"

  "You still haven't said where you two came from?" the old woman asked, looking at us craftily. "Who taught you such magic?"

  I pondered.

  "Don't know. Could always do it. I think."

  "We just have... shared interests," Aurora inserted quickly.

  "So, he’s not your boyfriend then?" the old woman squinted.

  "Boyfriend?" I gave a mischievous smirk. "Well, a companion... future spouse..."

  WHACK!

  Her fist hit my shoulder.

  "Not even in my thoughts!" Aurora barked. "He’s disgusting to me. We’re just traveling together while we have common goals. That’s it."

  "Why are you so cruel to him, Aurora?" gramps shook his head. "The boy is kind, I can see it in his eyes."

  "Aha!" I chimed in. "No reason to hit kind people!"

  "Well, it’s your decision," the old woman stood up, straightening her apron. "But still... How can you not remember your past? It’s a horror."

  "What’s so special about it?" Aurora shrugged. "Memories are worthless. Empty weight."

  The old woman turned at the threshold, and a trace of ancient wisdom flickered in her eyes.

  "You’re just young, child, and you don't understand... In time, when the body weakens, nothing remains but memories. It’s the only thing that proves you lived."

  She smiled sadly.

  "Fine. You're young; you won't listen anyway. I'm going to go cook."

  "PIE! PIE! PIE!" I started drumming a rhythm on the table with my palms.

  The food was close.

  While the old woman clattered with the oven tools, gramps decided to give us a full cross-examination.

  "How old are you, travelers?" he asked, squinting.

  "Don't know," I answered honestly.

  "I don't know either," Aurora echoed. "How old do we look?"

  Gramps gave us a critical look, rubbing his unshaven chin.

  "Well, for you, girl, you look about sixteen or seventeen. And you, kid, somewhere around fourteen or fifteen, no more."

  "HEY!" I practically jumped off the bench. "What do you mean 'kid'?"

  Gramps just huffed.

  "Though because of your eyes, one could give you more. Last time they seemed to be a different color, or did I see it wrong in my old age?"

  The old woman, not looking away from the dough, spoke up:

  "Old man, leave him alone. I've heard of people like them. They say in the capitals, mages are raised from childhood like chained dogs for war. They pump them full of alchemical junk so the mana boils while the will sleeps. That’s why they don't remember anything and look strange."

  She turned, wiping her hands on her apron.

  "People like you need to learn. Our country used to be the center of magical arts, a cradle of miracles... And now? Now everyone only believes in iron and lead."

  "And where do they truly teach magic now?" Aurora suddenly asked. A cold glint flickered in her eyes.

  The old woman pondered, looking at the fire in the stove.

  "They say the Sultanate still has traditions. There’s even a High Archmage there."

  "High Archmage?" Aurora tilted her head. "Who is that?"

  "It’s not just a title, child. It’s a power capable of performing a miracle where there is no hope. When it seems the scales have already stopped, a High Archmage can flip them with one movement of a finger. They are the ones who stand above fate."

  "I see..." Aurora murmured.

  "Alright," gramps slapped his palm against his knee. "Since you're our guests, a wash wouldn't hurt. Aurora, go with the old lady; she'll show you everything. And you, kid... come with me. You smell quite impressive."

  I sighed. Gramps was relentless. We went into the backyard. I didn't bother with tubs and washcloths—I just created a sphere of water, ran it over my whole body to wash off the forest dust, and then blasted myself with a hot gust of wind. I went into the house dry and clean.

  Gramps looked at my head and was horrified.

  "Hey! At least comb your hair. A man should look tidy, not like a haystack after a storm."

  He fished out an old bone comb from somewhere and, before I could dodge, plunged it into my hair.

  "OW! GRAMPS, THAT HURTS!" I tried to break free, but the old man gripped the back of my head with a death grip.

  A nasty sound followed. The comb was stuck fast in my hair, tangled in the strands.

  "First time I've seen straw like this," gramps wheezed, tugging at the handle. "Are they made of wire?"

  Somehow, with tears (mine), we liberated the comb.

  "This won't do," gramps decreed. "First wet it, then comb it, then dry it. Instructions for idiots."

  I obediently wetted my head, combed (the teeth of the comb groaned pathetically), dried it with air magic... and my hair instantly returned to its original state of chaotic explosion.

  "Strange..." gramps scratched the back of his head. "Well, it happens. Seems your hair is also a type of magic beyond logic."

  We returned to the kitchen. The old woman had just solemnly slid the pie into the oven. The smell of raspberries began to fill the house, displacing all other thoughts.

  "Go out for a walk for a bit," the old woman nodded to Aurora. "The old man and I need to exchange some secrets here."

  They went into another room, leaving me alone with Aurora and the aroma of baking.

  "Well, Aurora," I whispered, staring at the oven door. "Are you ready to learn the true meaning of life?"

  She only stared gloomily at her clean hands.

  Aurora had changed. After washing, she was even more beautiful, though I didn't think that was possible. She sat opposite me, somewhat distractedly running her fingers through her hair as if seeing it for the first time.

  "It’s so soft..." she whispered quietly, letting the strands slip through her fingers. "And being clean... it’s actually pleasant."

  She raised her eyes to mine. Her gaze was cold and sharp, like a shard of ice.

  "And it’s all because of you," she spat.

  It felt like an electric shock. Again. She said it as if I had committed the gravest crime in the world by making her feel alive. "All because of you"—in her mouth, it didn't sound like gratitude, but an accusation. Like a sentence.

  I felt a real pain. Not like the slap to the jaw—that pain passes quickly. This one was viscous, hollow; it stirred somewhere in the region of my heart.

  "Dammit..." I muttered. "There you go again. Why do you always hurt me with words?"

  I didn't wait for an answer. She would say something like "I don't care" anyway. I just dropped my head onto the wooden tabletop, resting my forehead on my arms.

  The world narrowed down to the smell of old wood and the heat radiating from the oven. I stared at the door where our pie was baking and felt absolutely crushed. Sadness pressed down like a heavy slab, making even my laziness take a back seat.

  It hurts.

  It just hurts.

  I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of raspberries and dough. The only bright spot in this day was locked behind a metal latch. I hope it finishes soon. Maybe the sugar will help me forget that I am the "cause of all woes" for the only being sitting beside me.