Chapter 22: The Prophecy of the Sad Child

  [Clara's Perspective]

  Six months.

  I counted them. Every night, I made another mark on the calendar, and every night, the nightmares returned. I became stronger under the supervision of Headmistress Layla, yes. I learned how to make shadows my ally. But every ounce of strength I gained screamed his name. I was doing this for him. To be worthy of standing by his side.

  "Today is the day of his return from his journey with Philip," Layla told me, and I barely heard her. My heart began drumming against my ribs like a caged bird, a violent, frantic rhythm of hope and fear.

  Today.

  How many times I had imagined this moment. How much I missed his scent, which resembled a storm and old books. How much I missed the touch of his hand, the warmth of his body. How much I missed his foolish and perfect face.

  The door of the Headmistress's pink office opened.

  And time stopped.

  It was him. My star. Deo.

  His hair was longer, having lost its arrogant styling and fallen in dark, wild locks around his face, touching his shoulders. His body looked harder, sculpted from long journeys and nights of little sleep. But his eyes... his golden eyes were the same. Sharp, intelligent, and... tired. I saw in their depth the dust of the roads he had taken and the wisdom of battles I had not witnessed. They were the same eyes, but they now carried the weight of the world he had seen.

  [Deo's Perspective]

  When I opened the door of the pink Headmistress's office, I saw her.

  For six months, her face was the only thing that kept me going. On cold nights, in strange cities, amidst the complex theories that almost tore my mind apart, I would close my eyes and see her face.

  And now, she was in front of me.

  She looked stronger. Her stance was more confident. She was no longer the scared girl hiding behind her cloak, but a warrior wearing shadows as armor. But under her eyes, I saw faint dark circles. I saw the trace of the nightmares I knew would haunt her.

  Neither of us moved. We stood on opposite sides of the room, our eyes speaking a language that needed no words. I saw in her eyes the longing, the fear, and the new strength. And she, surely, saw in my eyes the exhaustion, the toughness, and the aching nostalgia.

  Then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, we moved at the same moment.

  I hugged her and wrapped my arms around her as if trying to prevent her from disappearing again. I buried my face in her hair, inhaling her scent that resembled rain and wild flowers. I felt her tremble in my arms, then cling to me, as if I were her only harbor in a raging sea.

  "I'm back," I whispered, the voice coming out huskier than I expected.

  "Welcome back," she whispered in return, her voice muffled against my shoulder.

  "Stop this disgusting romance," a gruff voice came from behind me. Philip entered, the smell of travel and dust preceding him, and immediately sat on the pink bear couch. "I swear this place is like a sewer colored pink."

  "Sewer?!" Layla shouted from behind her desk. "Are you calling my beautiful teddy bears a sewer, you son of a bitch?!"

  "Yes. And what are you going to do? With that tiny body of yours? You short fool."

  I sat down and pulled Clara to sit beside me, our hands still intertwined. "You jerk! You said training, and I thought you'd teach me like normal teachers, not make me your research assistant."

  Philip casually put his finger in his nose. "What? There's nothing better than hands-on training in the real world. I made you travel the whole world, meet the weirdest geniuses, and see magic you wouldn't have dreamed of. You should thank me."

  "You just wanted a servant to carry your bags."

  "Stop this now!" Layla said sharply. "Philip, what about the devices?"

  Philip sighed. "We figured out how they breached the barrier. It's a very advanced, diabolically precise technique. Evil genius. A small piece placed inside the barrier, and when activated, it creates a vibrational loophole that destroys it from the inside."

  "Just as I suspected," Layla said, her eyes darkening. "Spies."

  "The technique itself is revolutionary. Few of the Anvil craftsmen in the world can make something like this. More importantly, my research on using external magic... failed miserably." He looked at me. "Except this one, who was annoying the whole time, may have learned Reality Manipulation magic from me."

  Layla laughed. "You taught someone else one of your precious treasures."

  "He was a pain in the ass, I swear," Philip said, yawning.

  "Alright, your work is done," Layla said seriously. "Go now. I'll send you the money later."

  We walked through the repaired corridors of the Academy. There were still scars here and there, a constant reminder of that night.

  "Kairo entered a training seclusion somewhere after his duel with Isabella," Clara said. "Isabella and Alessandro also returned to their families for training."

  "And you?"

  "I started training directly under Headmistress Layla's supervision. And I discovered that we are similar in some things. Oh right, did you see her office? It's a masterpiece. I want my office in our house to be like that."

  I stopped. "Our house? Someone's in a hurry to get married," I said, staring at her face.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Her face flushed wonderfully. "Shut up, you fool! You smell bad and look barbaric! Come on, I'll shave you and bring you back to normal."

  She pulled me to her apartment. As usual, it was a beautiful and beloved mess. She seated me on a chair in the bathroom, and brought scissors and a clipper. I felt a strange feeling sitting there. I had never let anyone get so close to my neck before. I had never trusted anyone this way. I felt her warm breath on my neck as she concentrated, and her fingers gently running through my hair. Her silence and the sound of the scissors were everything in the world. This intimacy, this silent trust, was more powerful than any kiss.

  "Don't cut it too short," I mumbled.

  "Shut up," she whispered. "I'm the artist here."

  When she finished, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was short and uneven, a work of amateurism par excellence. But when I saw the look of pride and concentration in her eyes as she looked at her "masterpiece," I felt it was the most beautiful haircut in the world.

  I turned to her. She was very close. I took her hand and kissed her. It wasn't a stolen kiss this time. It was a slow, deep kiss, full of all the longing and words we hadn't said for six months.

  When we pulled apart, our breaths were ragged. "Deo..." she whispered.

  "I know," I said.

  No other words were needed. I took her hand, and she led me silently to her bedroom. It wasn't lustful or impulsive. It was calm, almost sacred. It was an acknowledgment that we had reached a place where the outside world, with all its noise and pain, no longer existed.

  I helped her take off her cloak, her armor she no longer needed with me. And she helped me take off my clothes, my armor I didn't even know I was wearing. For the first time in my life, I felt completely naked, not just physically, but spiritually. And I saw in her eyes that she felt the same way.

  It was my first time. And it was her first time. And that's what made it perfect. It wasn't about pleasure; it was about discovery. Discovery of the other's body, and discovery of the soul inhabiting it. It was about absolute vulnerability, absolute trust, and the feeling that finally, for the first time, you were where you belonged.

  I woke up to the sunlight streaming through the window. Clara was sleeping next to me, naked and beautiful like a star fallen onto my bed, her black hair spread on the pillow like ink. I smiled.

  I got up quietly. I cleaned the messy lounge in minutes, with a magical speed she wouldn't have seen. Then I went to the kitchen and made breakfast from everything I found in her miserable fridge. When she woke up, she found me sitting and waiting for her.

  "Deo? Why are you up so early?" she said, stretching, unconcerned about her nudity.

  Her body was so beautiful, sculpted and perfect. Don't get flustered, Deo. Don't be like your first meeting. And why is she naked? Does she usually walk around the house naked?

  "I made you breakfast and cleaned the lounge."

  She looked at the clean lounge in shock, then at me. "You should have waited... but I'm hungry."

  After two more rounds of "love" ignited by our glances over the burned egg dish, she said while getting dressed: "We're going out to the city to buy you new clothes. Your old clothes are ugly."

  We left the Academy and stepped into Lutetia, the capital of the world.

  It wasn't like any place I had seen on my travels. It was a dream built of white stone and light. Classical old buildings intertwined with graceful glass towers, connected by hanging bridges in the air from which gardens of glowing flowers dangled. The cobblestone streets were clean, traversed by elegant carriages that floated silently above the ground. The air was scented with the aroma of fresh bread and coffee from open cafes, and the smell of damp flowers from the hanging gardens. There was art in every corner, and calm music emanating from unseen places. It wasn't a city; it was a poem.

  "Every time I walk in this city," Clara said, clinging to my arm, "I feel it's so beautiful."

  "I've seen the whole world," I said, looking at her bright face. "But it looks small and dull now."

  She pulled me into one of the elegant side streets, and we entered a luxurious clothing store. Inside, everything was quiet and expensive.

  "Alright, barbarian," she said with a mischievous smile. "Our mission is to make you look civilized."

  She spent the next hour enthusiastically moving between clothes with a childlike excitement, and I followed her like a sheep. She would grab a shirt, put it against my chest, then shake her head disdainfully. "No, that makes you look like a highwayman. And this... the color is too dull." Then she grabbed a sleek black jacket. "This... this is perfect. The cut is clean, and it will highlight your shoulders."

  My shoulders? Since when do I care about my shoulders? I secretly looked at the price tag. It had three zeros. Three! For a jacket! I felt cold sweat running down my back. The money Eva gave me was for basic expenses, not this madness.

  "Try it on!" she said, pushing me toward the fitting room.

  After an hour of struggle, I came out wearing completely new clothes. They were comfortable, elegant... and sickeningly expensive.

  When we went to the checkout, and the worker piled a mountain of clothes in front of me, I felt panic. My God. I don't even have a tenth of this amount. Should I confess to her that I'm broke? I'm 'Deo,' the conqueror of Isabella, the man who defied the Eisingard family. No, impossible.

  "Wait a minute," I said to Clara in a voice I tried to make sound natural. "I want to go to the restroom."

  I ran to the restroom, locked the door, and took out my phone. There was only one choice.

  "Layla Knoxville."

  "Deo?" she answered in a surprised, professional voice. "What do you want? I'm in an important meeting with the heads of the families."

  "I'm also in a very important situation. I need money. Now."

  "What? Do you think I'm your personal bank? I don't have time for this nonsense."

  "Philip, when he was drunk in a bar in the Southern Continent, told me a very funny story about a stuffed bear named 'Mr. Fluffles,' and an embarrassing diplomatic incident with an ambassador from one of the Dwarf tribes involving some stolen honey. I don't think the family heads will find the story as funny as I do."

  A long, deadly silence fell on the line. Then I heard a long sigh, a sound of angry surrender. "How much do you want, you blackmailing bastard?"

  "Ten million should be enough. For now."

  "The damn money is in your account. And don't call me again unless the world is literally ending." And she hung up.

  I returned feeling victorious.

  "If you don't have enough money, we can reduce some of the clothes," Clara said anxiously.

  I laughed out loud. "I'm Deo. I don't have money? I am rich." I confidently swiped the card Layla had sent me, asking them to deliver everything to the Academy.

  Freed from the nightmare of bankruptcy, we spent the rest of the day in the city. I took her to a strange, old place called a "cinema." I didn't understand the idea at first. Why sit in a dark room to watch something I could watch at home? But when we sat in the soft velvet seats, the lights went out, and the huge images appeared on the screen floating in the air, I understood. It wasn't about the movie. It was about the darkness that allowed my hand to find hers and intertwine with it. It was about laughing at the same silly jokes, and feeling like we were the only two people in the world.

  When the movie ended, we walked back toward the Academy. We passed a quiet, beautiful residential neighborhood. The houses were elegant, illuminated by glowing crystals planted among the trees, and each house had its own garden gracefully floating next to its balcony. We heard the calm sound of a piano coming from an open window.

  Clara stopped, looking around with dreamy eyes. "I want our house to be here one day."

  I looked at her, and at the warm lights reflected in her eyes. "Yes," I said with a sincerity I hadn't felt before. "Me too."

  We arrived at the Academy, and entered her apartment, taking with us all the warmth and laughter of that day. And as you know, I'm a huge pervert, so another round began.

  Somewhere else, in a deep, dark forest belonging to the Van der Wood family, there was a secret place no one entered. A place cold as the ice of death. In the center, there was an ancient rock, and etched upon it in faded runes:

  "To our descendants in the future,

  The Magic Swordsman, the first and not the last, is not the savior of this world. He is no more than the harbinger of the world's destruction. And no less than a deeply sad, miserable child, cutting into oblivion. The echo of his sadness has reached us, here in the past. And the echo of his sadness has reached his past, present, and future self. And he is one of us. Therefore, this is not a request, or a command. It is a plea. Help this child.

  As for the destruction of this world... it is inevitable, my descendants. No one can do anything."